Park Tae-hyun blinked, his breath uneven, convincing himself the fleeting glimpse of a yellow tail was a trick of the mind.

  He’d just heard Lee’s drunken tale of a vengeful dog, and the dim streetlights along Seongbuk Middle Road cast unreliable shadows.

  Just my eyes playing games, he thought, clinging to the rational.

  Has to be.

  He wasn’t some mythical exorcist from Seorak Mountain, banishing spirits with a flick of his wrist.

  Deep down, he knew he was still soft—too much the doctor who saved lives, not the ghost who ended them. If he’d hardened his heart, he might have acted against Ruri earlier, those sharp nails of his sinking into her small frame.

  But would he have won, or would she have crushed him? The answer hung in the air, unknowable, and he shoved it aside.

  If he couldn’t change his nature, he’d at least shield himself from the chaos of this world.

  See something strange? Look away. Cover your eyes.

  That dog had haunted Lee for seven years—long enough for any grudge to itch. If it meant harm, it would’ve struck by now.

  Whatever lay beyond, Park Tae-hyun didn’t care to chase.

  The woman had paid for water, covered the ruined book, and settled promptly—a small act of fairness, a knot of good karma tied and done.

  Yet, as he stood in the bookstore’s doorway, a realization settled like frost: the world brimmed with things he couldn’t grasp.

  As a human, he’d been blind to them; as a ghost in Kim Min-woo’s skin, his eyes were open, seeing the unseen from a new angle, one that chilled and fascinated in equal measure.

  “What’s wrong?” Dr. Im Yoo-jin’s voice broke his reverie, her scarf half-tied as she joined him at the door, her magazine left behind.

  Park Tae-hyun forced a smile, shaking his head.

  “Just glad I’m not some hero like in those comics, with an elder popping up to lecture me about duty and power.”

  His tone was light, but the words carried a quiet truth—he didn’t want the weight of destiny.

  Dr. Im tilted her head, not quite following, but she didn’t press.

  “I should head back,” she said, her voice soft, practical.

  “It’s late.”

  The night had deepened, Tongmyeong’s streets quiet save for the occasional hum of a passing car.

  “You don’t want to stay a bit longer?” Park Tae-hyun asked, a touch of hope slipping through.

  “I have work tomorrow,” she replied, tightening her scarf against the chill.

  “Couldn’t you shift it?” he pressed, leaning forward slightly.

  “It’s… not convenient,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind.

  “Not willing?” The question escaped before he could stop it, sharper than intended.

  Dr. Im’s brow furrowed, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.

  It was the first time she’d sensed an edge in him, a push that unsettled her.

  “Yesterday, you said…” she began, her voice steady but guarded.

  Yesterday.

  He’d declared their marriage—a sham in Kim Min-woo’s name—over, a mutual release.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Now, his resolve wavered.

  “Yesterday was yesterday,” he said, stepping closer, his voice rising.

  “Until I sign those divorce papers, I’m your husband, you’re my wife. I want you to stay. With me. Now.”

  Dr. Im stood frozen, her calm eyes meeting his intensity. Silence stretched, taut and heavy.

  A surge of anger flared in Park Tae-hyun’s chest, raw and unbidden. His hand moved, fingers grazing her jaw, lifting her chin in a gesture that felt foreign—frivolous, almost cruel.

  Her beauty struck him: clear eyes, red lips, a delicate face framed by grace.

  She was a vision, her poise drawing him in, dizzying him.

  He leaned closer, drawn by impulse. Dr. Im’s hand rose as if to slap him, but it faltered, falling slowly.

  Tears glistened in her eyes, spilling silently down her cheeks.

  “Why are you crying?” Park Tae-hyun’s voice softened, confusion lacing his anger as he pulled back, searching her face.

  She didn’t answer, just held his gaze, her tears a quiet accusation.

  “You think crying will make me stop?” he pressed, his tone hardening again.

  “That I’ll feel guilty? It won’t work. You’re my wife, I’m your husband. Look at your family—your parents, sneering at me. Your sister, treating me like dirt. And you? So noble, so untouchable, sleeping in a separate bed, guarding your purity like we’re not married. You think that’s fair?”

  His voice cracked, bitterness spilling out.

  “I know I’m nothing to them—a failure, a nobody. But you’re my wife!” He seized her neck, gently but firmly, guiding her back against the counter.

  Her coat fell away, and he pressed closer, his own jacket slipping off.

  “I’ll show you what a wife does,” he said, the words tasting wrong even as they left his lips.

  “Kim Min-woo…” Dr. Im’s voice was cold, cutting through his haze.

  “You… bastard.”

  He laughed, a hollow sound, and pushed her onto the counter. But then—suddenly—he froze, stumbling back, his breath ragged.

  Dr. Im lay there, unresisting, her eyes open, calm, and piercing.

  He stared, disoriented, his heart pounding.

  What am I doing?

  She didn’t move, her gaze steady, carrying a weight of guilt and resignation. Park Tae-hyun’s mind reeled.

  Dr. Im—Im Yoo-jin—was a woman of contradictions: strong, independent, yet bound by her upbringing, her parents’ demands.

  They’d pressured her into this marriage, threatening despair if she didn’t produce heirs.

  She’d agreed, but her heart belonged to another—a doctor, dead half a year ago in a car accident, a man she’d loved silently during their internship, who’d likely never known her feelings.

  She’d married Kim Min-woo, but kept her distance, holding fast to her principles, even as it strained her soul.

  She hadn’t resisted just now, not out of desire, but from a sense of duty—a belief she owed her husband this, that her coldness in their marriage justified his claim.

  She accepted, but didn’t embrace, her eyes reflecting a quiet defiance beneath her surrender.

  “Put on your clothes!” Park Tae-hyun shouted, his voice breaking.

  “Now!”

  Dr. Im blinked, startled, and rose slowly, her expression unreadable.

  She thought he’d sealed her fate, yet here he was, pulling back. Silently, she dressed, smoothing her coat in front of a small mirror on the wall, her face blank.

  Then, with deliberate care, she poured a cup of hot water and set it on the counter for him.

  Without a glance, she walked out, the bell’s chime marking her exit.

  Park Tae-hyun sank to the floor, dazed, his mind a tangle of regret and confusion.

  Why had he stopped? Why hadn’t he continued? The impulse had been there, fierce and consuming, yet it felt… wrong, like a script he hadn’t written.

  He’d wanted her, hadn’t he? But the scene—her stillness, her tears—wasn’t what he craved.

  It was hollow, misaligned.

  He grabbed the teacup, took a sip, and spat it out, scalded.

  The water was boiling, untempered by cold, burning his tongue.

  He tossed the cup aside, water pooling on the floor, and stood, pacing, replaying his actions.

  His fist clenched, then loosened, then tightened again, a rhythm of frustration.

  He stumbled to the bathroom, twisted the faucet, and thrust his head under the icy stream.

  Winter’s bite shocked his skin, but he needed it—to cool the fire in his chest, to untangle the knot in his heart.

  Gasping, he straightened, dizzy, and faced the mirror.

  His reflection stared back, haggard, water dripping from his hair.

  He gripped the sink’s edge, panting, and whispered, as if to himself.

  “It’s you.....”

  His voice grew louder, venomous.

  “It’s you, you damned coward! You weakling, you’re messing with me, trying to control me! You pathetic, spineless bastard!”

  He cursed the mirror, the face of Kim Min-woo staring back.

  This wasn’t him—not entirely.

  That surge of anger, the reckless impulse, the cruel words—they weren’t just his.

  They came from somewhere else, someone else. Kim Min-woo, the man he’d replaced, hadn’t vanished.

  He lingered, a shadow in this body, stirring chaos. Alive, he’d been scorned, too timid to fight back.

  Dead, he hid in Park Tae-hyun’s soul, seeking vengeance through crude, borrowed hands—punishing Dr. Im for a marriage that had humiliated him.

  “I pitied you,” Park Tae-hyun murmured, his voice low, trembling.

  “I felt sorry for your sad little life. But now I see—there’s a reason you were so pitiful. You earned it.”

  *Bang!*

  His fist slammed into the mirror, glass shattering, shards scattering into the sink.

  Blood welled from his palm, dripping red against the porcelain.

  In the broken fragments, Kim Min-woo’s face lingered, fractured but unyielding.

  Park Tae-hyun stood frozen, breath shallow.

  The reflection didn’t move.

  Then, a glint of malice flickered in its eyes, and a voice—his, yet not—spoke, chillingly clear.

  “Oh, you found me~”