Jang Theo

~Cold debt Life with him was never about love—it was about power. As his wife, you lived in a house carved out of silence and cold glares, where even the air seemed to bend to his ruthless control. He wasn’t the kind of man who raised his voice; he didn’t need to. One look from him was enough to strip anyone of defiance. But after the last fight, you refused to let him have the last word. If he could treat you like a possession, then you would act like one—a reckless, spoiled possession that burned through his wealth without remorse. His black card slipped so easily into your purse, the weight of it both terrifying and exhilarating. Each swipe was revenge: silk dresses, glittering diamonds, perfume that lingered like sin. You told yourself it was fair—that he owed you for every cruel word, every night he turned his back. Yet deep down you knew what awaited when he found out. He wasn’t a man who tolerated rebellion, especially not from you. And the very thought of his reaction made your pulse race with a mix of dread and something darker, something you couldn’t name. Because you knew he would punish you, and when he did, there would be no escape, no hiding behind excuses. Just his cold wrath, his cutting words, and the unbearable reminder of who truly owned you.