Mission: Un-Wife Me

The air in Chief Director Kang’s office tasted like stale espresso, high-grade anxiety, and the distinct scent of whatever wood-paneled cologne Kim Taehyung used to assert dominance over a room.

Jennie Kim sat perfectly upright in a leather armchair, her legs crossed at the knee, looking less like a government operative and more like a high-fashion editor about to fire an intern. She wore a tailored, cream-colored blazer, a matching skirt, and four-inch Chanel slingbacks that were entirely unsuited for tactical maneuvering but absolutely necessary for her mental stability.

Across from her, sitting with his elbows on his knees and a dark, brooding intensity that belonged on a billboard for an expensive Swiss watch, was Agent Kim Taehyung.

He was her senior. He was the agency’s prized golden boy. And he was, without a single shadow of a doubt, her mortal enemy.

“Let me get this straight, Chief,” Jennie said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she tapped a perfectly manicured, almond-shaped nail against the armrest. “You want me, the asset protection and high-speed extraction specialist, to go undercover on a private Mediterranean island with him?” She pointed a finger at Taehyung without looking at him. “The man who literally blew up my extraction vehicle last month because he thought it looked ‘suspicious’?”

“It was suspicious,” Taehyung’s voice cut through the room, a low, gravelly baritone that always sounded like he’d just swallowed sandpaper. He didn’t turn his head to look at her; his jaw just tightened, his sharp profile cutting a lethal silhouette against the afternoon light. “You parked a neon-pink Vespa behind a Russian arms depot, Jennie. You were begging to be targeted.”

“It was magenta, you uncultured sniper,” Jennie snapped, her Gen Z vernacular slipping out the second her blood pressure spiked. “And it was an aesthetic distraction! It worked perfectly until you decided to play Michael Bay and detonate the entire block. The vibe was completely ruined. My outfit was covered in actual soot.”

“Enough,” Chief Kang sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like a man who had aged ten years in the span of a ten-minute briefing. “This isn’t a debate. Vincenzo Lucchese is hosting his annual exclusive, highly selective ‘Couples Retreat and High-Society Gala’ on the Isle of Malta. He is currently vetting buyers for a satellite weapon capable of wiping out global communication networks. He only invites elite power couples. If you go in alone, you’re dead before you clear customs.”

The Chief slid a thick, glossy folder across the mahogany desk. It landed between them.

“You will be operating under deep cover,” Kang continued, his expression deadpan. “As of 0600 hours this morning, international databases reflect that you two have been married for three years. You are a wealthy, highly volatile, deeply codependent power couple looking to invest in Lucchese’s tech.”

Jennie’s heart did a violent, horizontal drop into her stomach. “Married?” she gasped, her voice cracking slightly. “To him? Chief, be so serious right now. Look at him. It’s giving ‘I haven’t smiled since the Clinton administration.’ How am I supposed to pretend I willingly signed a legal document tying my life to a certified hater?”

Taehyung finally turned his head. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto hers, cold and entirely unbothered by her dramatic flare. “The feeling is entirely mutual, Kim. I’d rather clear a minefield with a toothpick. But unlike you, I respect the contract.”

Chief Kang didn’t give them time to bicker. He reached into his drawer and tossed two heavy metallic items onto the desk. One was a proximity key for a high-end luxury vehicle; the other was a smart-key to a heavily fortified agency safehouse.

“The agency has secured a penthouse and an Aston Martin for your preparation phase,” Kang said.

“Keep them,” Taehyung said instantly, his voice flat. He didn’t even look at the keys. “I already have a secure, off-grid luxury mansion outside the city line. And my personal vehicle is fully modified for tactical evasion. We don’t need agency assets tracking our coordinates during the prep week.”

Chief Kang nodded once, seemingly relieved to save the budget. “Fine. The meeting is adjourned. You have seventy-two hours to synchronize your backstories, pack your assets, and learn how to look like you don’t want to murder each other in your sleep. Dismissed.”

The underground parking garage of the agency headquarters was freezing, smelling of concrete dust and premium fuel.

Jennie walked three paces behind Taehyung, her heels clicking aggressively against the floor like a countdown clock. She watched the broad expanse of his shoulders beneath his black jacket. He walked with a terrifying, predator-like grace, smooth, fast, and entirely focused. It irritated her how good he looked doing it.

He stopped abruptly in front of a sleek, matte-black, heavily modified sports car. The engine block hummed silently even while off, a beast waiting to be awoken.

Taehyung pressed the key fob. The car beeped, the side mirrors unfolding like a crow spreading its wings. He didn’t open the door for her. Instead, he leaned his hip against the driver’s side, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked down at her with a heavy, warning glare.

“You better not mess up this mission, or I’ll sue you,” he said mockingly, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous growl he used to intimidate foreign operatives.

Jennie stopped, adjusting the strap of her vintage Dior handbag. She slowly slid her designer sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, eyeing him like he was a stain on a white carpet.

“Sue me? It’s giving pressed, Taehyung. Let’s unpack that,” she said, her tone dripping with utter indifference. “Like I have any interest in being legally or socially perceived as your wife. Be so serious right now. I am doing this for the paycheck and the retirement fund, not your ego.”

Taehyung blinked. His fierce, lethal glare faltered for a fraction of a second. His brain violently glitched, trying to process the sequence of words that had just left her mouth.Giving... pressed? Unpack what? We haven’t even gone to the safe house yet.He stared at her like a deeply confused Golden Retriever trying to understand quantum physics.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he muttered, his brow furrowing as his arms dropped. “Speak like a professional, Kim.”

“I am speaking, your brain is just running on dial-up Wi-Fi,” Jennie scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard she was surprised they didn’t get stuck. She marched past him, her perfume, a sweet, expensive blend of vanilla and jasmine, hitting him like a physical wave, and pulled open the passenger door herself.

The moment she looked inside, her jaw dropped in pure horror.

The interior was pristine leather, yes, but the passenger seat was currently occupied by a tactical vest, a stray sniper scope, a thermal imaging camera, and a half-empty plastic shaker bottle filled with a thick, chalky protein mix.

“Absolutely not,” Jennie gasped, pointing a manicured finger into the car. “Look at this environment. This is a hostile workspace. Where am I supposed to sit? On a literal weapon? The lack of respect for luxury aesthetics is wild.”

Taehyung walked over, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to re-establish his alpha authority. “It’s a tactical vehicle, Jennie. Not a Paris runway. Get in the car or run behind it. I drive fast, and we’re on a clock.”

“If a single speck of tactical grease gets on this Chanel skirt, Kim Taehyung, I will personally rewrite your agency contract to ensure your entire salary goes directly into my Sephora cart,” she snapped.

With two fingers, she carefully lifted the sniper scope by its rubber casing, tossed it into the back seat like it was garbage, and slid into the leather passenger seat. The absolute first thing she did was pull down the sun visor, flip open the vanity mirror, and begin reapplying her lip gloss. “And don’t threaten me with your driving. My Ducati can lap this heavy piece of metal before you even find second gear.”

Taehyung climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass. He buckled his seatbelt and turned to look at her. She was currently patting her hair into place, tilting her head to check her blush in his rearview mirror.

He was one of the agency’s top lethal assets. He had assassinated cartel leaders. He had jumped out of burning helicopters. And right now, he was being thoroughly ignored by a woman who was treating a global security crisis like a trip to the mall.

“We are tracking a cyber-terrorist,” Taehyung said, his voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying register that usually meant someone was about to lose a limb. He turned the key, and the modified V8 engine roared to life with a deafening, predatory growl that vibrated through the floorboards. “We are going to my residence. You will follow my lead, you will obey my tactical parameters, and you willnotbring an entire department store of makeup into my safehouse. Clear?”

Jennie didn’t even blink. She popped her lips together, finalizing the gloss, and snapped the visor shut. She turned to him, giving him a sweet, devastatingly beautiful smile that didn’t reach her incredibly cold eyes.

“Oh, sweetie,” she purred, tapping his cheek lightly with one finger. “The makeup is a non-negotiable asset. If I have to pretend to be your wife, the least I can do is look stunning while I regret my life choices. Now, step on the gas, Speed Racer. This underground lighting is doing nothing for my complexion.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. He stared at her finger, then at her face.What did I do to deserve this?

A dark, competitive smirk spread across his lips. “You want speed, Kim? Don’t cry to the Chief when you throw up your expensive lunch.”

With a brutal slam of his foot, Taehyung threw the car into reverse and mashed the accelerator. The tires shrieked in agony against the concrete, smoke pouring from the wheel wells as he executed a violent, physics-defying J-turn out of the parking space. He flipped the gear into drive before the car even stopped spinning, the vehicle rocketing toward the exit ramp with terrifying, whiplash-inducing acceleration.

Jennie didn’t scream. She didn’t even drop her purse. She simply reached up, held onto the ceiling handle with one hand, and sighed dramatically out the window.

“Boring,” she called out over the roar of the engine. “My grandmother takes grocery turns tighter than that. Next time, try drifting, babe. It’s more aesthetic.”

Taehyung’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned entirely white. The mission hadn’t even officially begun, and he was already praying for the enemy to shoot him.