UNLIKELY MATCH | HEESEUNG

2 - Sleek Black Intruder

HEESEUNG'S POV 

I head back home feeling like shit. I don't bother parking my car correctly in the garage, just letting it sit there haphazardly as I trudge into the house. My mind is still reeling from the conversation with the boss, the idea of an arranged marriage lingering like a bad taste in my mouth. As I toss my keys onto the table, I'm met with the sight of a cat inside the place. What the fuck? It's a large, sleek black cat that gives off the vibe of a black Phantom Rolls Royce. Its piercing yellow eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I freeze, wondering how the hell it got in here. Then I remember – the damn thing must've slipped in when I left the garage door open. Great, just what I need right now – a stray cat making itself at home in my house.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice coming out as a whisper. The cat doesn't respond, merely looking at me with a calm, unblinking stare. It's as if it's waiting for something, though what that might be, I have no idea. I think of all the superstitions about black cats bringing bad luck, and for a moment, I entertain the idea that maybe this is some sort of cosmic punishment for considering the boss's ludicrous proposal. "Are you going to do something or what?" 

But the cat remains unmoved, its demeanor unchanged. It's almost unnerving how it seems to be studying me, as if it knows something I don't. With a frustrated sigh, I slump down onto the nearest chair, rubbing my temples as I try to make sense of everything that's happened today. I'm about to be a married man and it's only a matter of time before it happens. Am I really this much of a coward? Riding for Ferarri for years, facing off against some of the best drivers in the world, and yet here I am, hesitating at the thought of a marriage of convenience. It's not just about my pride or my principles – it's about the future of my career. 

Can't I just bear with fan service and put on a show for the sponsors? Is that too much to ask? But deep down, I know it's not just about smiling for the cameras and attending social events. It's about selling a lie, pretending to be something I'm not, all for the sake of appeasing greedy businessmen. 

Junseok will have a blast when he knows I've agreed to this arrangement. He'll probably mock me endlessly, saying I've sold my soul to the devil or something equally dramatic. But what choice do I have? It's either this or risk losing everything I've worked so hard for. And I'm not fucking letting him win that damn Grand Prix. My life is racing and I will race with the last drop of my blood, the last breath in my body. No one will take that away from me, not even if I have to make deals with the devil himself. If an arranged marriage is what's being demanded of me, then so be it. It's only one year, after all, I can endure anything for that long. 

"You can stay for now," I mutter, more to myself than to the cat that's now settled comfortably on the windowsill, its tail swishing lazily back and forth. "But don't think this means we're friends or anything." The cat just blinks lazily, as if to say it couldn't care less about my opinion. I must be fucking insane.

I look around the place, the eery silence a reminder of the life I'm living. Parents are away, friends are scattered all around the globe and the last girl I dated is nothing but a distant memory. What a fucking lonely existence. 

Pushing myself to my feet, I shake off the lingering feeling of despair. Dwelling on my loneliness won't change a damn thing. I have a race to win, a career to salvage, and a marriage of convenience to endure – whether I like it or not. I haven't thought of anything apart from racing for a long time now it feels strange to have my personal life suddenly thrown into the mix. But I'll adapt. I always do. 

I make my way to my room, change into workout gear, and head to my home gym. The familiar scent of sweat and rubber greets me as I enter the space and I just launch into my workout routine. When my phone starts ringing, I snatch it up and answer without bothering to check the ID. No one calls me other than the boss or the trio–who are probably busy preparing for the Grand Prix. 

"The meeting is set for tomorrow," The boss says from the other line of the call and I roll my eyes. Talk about speed. "This is a golden opportunity, Heeseung. Make a good impression."

I grit my teeth, frustration bubbling up inside me at the mere mention of the arranged marriage. "Oh, so you want me to play the role of the devoted man who will meet his woman's father to ask for her hand in marriage?" I retort sarcastically, my tone dripping with disdain. "Sorry to burst your bubble, boss, but I'm not exactly the poster child for domestic bliss."

"Just don't screw this up and you'll actually get the chance to keep your seat." With a muttered curse, I end the call, tossing the phone aside with more force than necessary. I might have crossed a line there, but I don't give a damn. This whole situation is ridiculous, and I refuse to play along like some puppet on a string. But as much as I hate to admit it, the boss is right about one thing – I need to keep my seat on the team. Without Ferrari, I'd be nothing.

With a heavy sigh, I resume my workout, pushing myself harder than ever before. The familiar burn of exertion dulls the edge of my frustration, at least for a little while. But no matter how much I push myself, no matter how fast I run or how heavy I lift, tomorrow will still come and I'll still be dressed in a suit, meeting a stranger who's supposed to be my future father-in-law slash sponsor. What a fucking mess. 

A good, hot shower will help clear my mind, I decide as I finish my workout. Stripping off my sweat-soaked clothes, I step into the bathroom and turn on the water, relishing the feeling of hot water cascading over my tired muscles.

This wasn't the plan. What I planned for my life was to become a good damn racer and make it to the top, make money and live life on my own terms. My only goal was to make enough money so that my parents would never have to worry about finances again. I wanted to provide for them, to repay them for all the sacrifices they made for me. I dated a good woman once, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe there was more to life than just racing. But I knew she deserved better than what I could give her. Racing consumed me, leaving little room for anything else. So, I let her go, convincing myself that it was for the best.

And now a fucking marriage? I never once thought of committing to someone in such a manner. Marriage was never part of the equation, especially not one arranged for the sake of my career. It feels like a betrayal of everything I've worked for, a betrayal of myself.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" When I step out of the shower, a towel wrapped around my waist, I'm met with the unblinking gaze of the sleek black cat that had somehow found its way into my home earlier. It meows and rubs against my leg, its fur soft against my skin. Okay, never mind, it's kinda cute, I'll give it that. But that doesn't change the fact that my life is spiraling out of control. "You hungry?" It must be. 

The two of us head to the kitchen where I place a bowl of milk for the cat, watching as it laps it up eagerly. As I lean against the countertop, idly tracing patterns on the marble surface, I grab my phone and mindlessly scroll through social media, my mind numb. The endless stream of posts and updates offers little distraction but I still find myself looking for the posts about me. 

What I'm labeled with is usually he arrogant, mysterious, damn good racer." It's a label I've grown accustomed to over the years, one that simultaneously boosts my ego and fuels my frustration. I don't have a social presence on social media or any personal accounts because I'd rather keep my private life private. I don't want people analyzing and speculating about every aspect of my life. But now, it seems like that's exactly what I'll have to do – put on a show for the world to see, all in the name of keeping my career alive.

It's too late for what-ifs and maybes now. The sponsorship is going to happen, and the marriage is inevitable. Maybe everything will turn out okay in the end, the year will pass in a blur, and I'll be able to move on with my life. Or maybe it will be a complete disaster, and well, at least I'll have this damn cat by my side.