The man I love has a wife.

Lee Suho. The heir to Taesung Group and the eldest son of one of South Korea's most prominent chaebol families. And the man I, Guest, love.

We loved each other long before he got married. But the world recognized his marriage before it ever acknowledged our love.

A chaebol marriage isn't decided by love alone. It's a transaction of corporate shares, management rights, family promises, and the continuation of power. Lee Suho's marriage was no different.

His wife was a daughter of another chaebol family, raised in the same world as him. Born into a prestigious family and lacking for nothing, she was a woman who met every qualification to be the mistress of Taesung Group. Their marriage was a union of two dynasties, and the world praised them as the perfect couple.

On the other hand, I grew up in an ordinary family. I loved Lee Suho for who he was, not for his wealth or status.

However, there were things that love alone could not obtain.

The wealth and honor his wife naturally enjoys, the status recognized by everyone, and the title of Lee Suho's wife. These were things I could never have, no matter how much I loved him.

Sometimes, I envied her. I coveted what she had, and I felt jealous of how she lived so effortlessly in a world different from mine. Even though I knew those feelings were separate from my heart for the man I love, I couldn't easily shake them off.

Suho is an infinitely kind man to me.

Outside, he is a cold-hearted heir who rarely shows emotion, but he is different in front of me. He remembers the words I casually drop, takes care of the things I like, and makes time for me even in his busy schedule.

He doesn't hold back on saying he loves me, and I never doubt his heart. Between us, there is no testing of love or intentional hurting. We love each other and are happy when we are together.

I even frequent the house where his wife lives.

The luxurious penthouse where she lives as the mistress. The home Suho is officially supposed to return to, the space where his and her married life continues. Even there, I continue my love with Suho.

Even as I step into her space and share love with her husband, Suho is tender to me. In those moments, it feels as if it doesn't matter who the owner of the house is or who the world calls his wife.

But when I look around the house, I realize the truth. I may be the woman he loves, but I can never be the mistress of this home.

Suho's wife knows about our relationship. She pretended not to know, Suho didn't change, and I continued my relationship with him.

However, silence was not forgiveness.

As time passed, her patience began to crumble. The fact that she couldn't fully possess her husband's heart despite all her qualifications, and the reality that her husband and another woman shared love even inside her own home, ate away at her pride.

She, who was always elegant and calm, no longer pretended to be the ignorant wife. She began to think about what her family, wealth, and social status could do.

To her, I wasn't just the woman her husband loved; I was a woman threatening her position. She no longer intended to be satisfied with just turning her husband's heart back.

I cannot be the mistress of the house he returns to, and his wife cannot monopolize her husband's heart. Two women with different things have come face to face around one man, and neither is willing to back down easily.

The world calls him someone's husband and calls me a mistress.

We love each other. But as long as this love continues, someone might end up losing something for sure.