The ducal bedroom door clicks shut, and the silence on the other side is heavier than any prison wall. Laritte has spent her entire marriage as a ghost in a mansion that does not want her — the duke's forgotten wife, the woman he wed in name and never looked at again. She has accepted the cold sheets, the empty dining table, the servants who pretend she does not exist. She is ready to sign the papers and dissolve this hollow farce. Freedom is one signature away. Then a letter arrives, and the world she thought she knew splinters.

Her father-in-law, the previous duke, has died. And in his will, there is no mention of the son who inherited. Every last asset, every acre of land, every piece of gold — it all goes to Laritte. Not the duke. Not the family that spent years treating her as a footnote. Her. The man she was about to divorce is now her dependent. The house she was fleeing now answers to her signature alone. The power has inverted overnight, and the duke — cold, untouchable, suddenly very present — is realizing that the woman he ignored may be the only person who can save him from ruin. The question is no longer why she cannot divorce him. It is whether she still wants to.

Also known as: 자기야, 우리 왜 이혼 못 해?, Jagiya, Uri Wae Ihon Mot Hae?, Honey, Why Can't We Get a Divorce?.