Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 132: Drama Contract Marriage Challenge

Chapter 132: Drama Contract Marriage Challenge

"Love, contracts, and dangerously good acting."

The first thing Ava noticed about the Grand Mirae Center was how shiny it was.

The skyscraper seemed to slice through the Seoul skyline with brutal elegance—mirrored panels glinting sharp enough to blind if you looked too long. As their black summit car pulled up to the valet entrance, the building’s polished stone pillars and artfully minimalist gardens loomed around them.

Ava smoothed her skirt, suddenly aware of how small she felt.

"Why does it look like we’re about to be cast in a historical epic and/or indicted for embezzlement?" she muttered.

Ryan grinned from the seat beside her, fixing his cufflinks with maddening casualness. "Because Koreans understand drama. Everything here looks ready for a scandal."

Ava huffed a breath, nerves jangling under her skin. She wasn’t new to high society events. But Seoul’s matchmaking summit? This was a different beast entirely. Bigger. Flashier. Hungrier.

As the driver opened the door, a blast of crisp spring air hit her face, laced with cherry blossoms from the carefully manicured street trees.

She stepped out—and immediately regretted wearing heels.

The entrance was a gauntlet: reporters clustered along velvet ropes, cameras flashing already. Marble steps led up to a soaring lobby framed by sleek glass, where staff in tailored black suits moved like chess pieces.

Mei bustled out of the second car behind them, wearing a stunning jade-green hanbok that screamed dignified elder stateswoman—if you ignored the selfie stick she was currently wielding like a knight’s lance.

"Ava! Ryan!" she called, waving them over. "Come take a photo in front of the cherry blossom installation!"

Harold followed, arms full of tote bags labeled Seoul Summit 2025 VIP, camera bags, and what looked suspiciously like a portable matcha kit.

"We’re late," Ava stage-whispered as Mei herded them toward a silk-screen backdrop adorned with delicate cranes.

"You’re fashionably imminent," Mei corrected, snapping pictures with terrifying speed. "Smile like you just signed a billion-dollar merger and adopted three rescue puppies!"

Ryan leaned close, deadpan. "Quick. Choose a puppy name."

Ava gritted her teeth and smiled, feeling the flashbulbs burn into her retinas.

Harold appeared beside her, offering an unmarked envelope. "Backup lipstick," he whispered solemnly.

Ava blinked. "I don’t know whether to thank you or question my entire life."

Before she could process further, a summit coordinator with a headset and an official-looking clipboard intercepted them, bowing sharply.

"Miss Lee? Mister Kim? Opening ceremony starts in five minutes. Please, this way."

Ava exhaled, her heart kicking harder now.

Ryan took her hand—steady, grounding.

"Ready to become a K-drama villain couple?" he murmured.

"I was born ready," she shot back.

---

The venue’s main hall was ridiculous in the best way.

Towering ceilings dripped with crystal chandeliers that shimmered like frozen rain. Long white silk banners fluttered down the walls, inked with brushstroke kanji about fate, destiny, and eternal connection.

Somewhere, hidden speakers piped in soft traditional music, blending the old with the new.

Attendees milled like a Vogue spread brought to life—immaculate hanboks, tailored suits, glittering hairpins catching the light.

It smelled faintly of plum blossoms, polished wood, and anticipation.

Ava barely had time to absorb it all before it happened:

The microphone.

Someone—possibly a summit coordinator, possibly an agent of chaos disguised in Gucci—thrust it into her hand.

"Miss Lee! A few words before the challenge begins?"

Challenge?

Ryan’s expression did a very convincing impression of a man watching a slow-motion car crash—and bracing to join it.

Ava turned toward the stage, where a huge illuminated screen read:

WELCOME TO SEOUL’S LOVE CONSULTANT SUMMIT – CONTRACT MARRIAGE CHALLENGE ROUND 1!

Her heart did a neat little somersault.

She turned back to Ryan.

"Tell me I’m hallucinating."

He smiled grimly. "You’re not. We’re about to fake-marry each other for points."

Ava smiled stiffly as the summit director—a lean, sharply dressed man with impeccably swooped hair—beamed at the room full of matchmakers and cameras.

"Today’s first event," he announced, "is the K-Drama Contract Marriage Challenge!"

A ripple of polite applause ran through the audience.

Ava’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Across the room, Min Seo-jun caught Ava’s eye and winked—an unmistakable good luck surviving kind of wink.

Madam Choi simply sipped her tea without blinking.

Ava exhaled through her nose. Fine. She could handle this. It was just a performance. Pretend engagement was practically a hobby at this point.

"Each pair," the director continued, "must present a convincing contract marriage pitch to the panel. Romantic tension, believable chemistry, and creative terms are essential!"

Ryan leaned toward her, voice low. "Are we allowed to negotiate conjugal rights mid-presentation?"

Ava elbowed him hard in the ribs.

He grunted, grinning.

"And remember," the director added brightly, "you’ll be judged on sincerity and dramatic delivery. Bonus points for authenticity!"

Ava buried her face in her hands for a moment.

Authenticity.

With Ryan Kim—who could barely look at her without wanting to kiss her stupid.

This was going to be an absolute trainwreck.

---

The backstage lounge buzzed like a war zone under a velvet curtain.

Clipboards snapped. Pens scratched. Emergency coffee carts circulated.

Ava and Ryan sat cross-legged on a low bench with their "Contract Marriage Agreement" template, scrawling down terms between whispered laughter and increasingly dangerous flirting.

"My demand," Ryan declared, tapping his pen to paper, "is one forehead kiss per minor victory."

"You would weaponize affection," Ava muttered.

"Fine." She scribbled in bold letters. "You must share your dessert without complaining."

"Unconstitutional," Ryan gasped.

"Non-negotiable," Ava said sweetly.

His eyes glinted. "Clause four: Mandatory ’oppa’ usage for damage control."

Ava laughed despite herself, nudging his foot under the table. "You’re asking for war."

Ryan leaned closer, voice dropping to a low tease. "You’re already losing, sweetheart."

Their heads bent together, breathing each other’s air, the buzz between them a dangerous hum.

Before the moment could combust, a shadow loomed over them.

Min Seo-jun.

Draped in a razor-sharp black hanbok, lips curved in a not-quite smile.

"Enjoying the game?" she asked, voice dripping smooth menace.

Ava smiled back, teeth hidden. "Always."

Min’s gaze flicked between them. "Let’s hope the judges prefer theatrics over tradition."

She walked away without waiting for a response.

Ryan watched her leave, then deadpanned, "Did we just get passive-aggressively blessed?"

"She just challenged us," Ava said, a slow, wicked grin blooming. "Poor thing."

The bell chimed.

Showtime.

The lights hit them hard as they stepped onto the polished wood stage.

Rows of judges stared back: traditional matchmakers, tech tycoons, even a few Korean reality TV producers who looked ready to launch a dating spin-off right then and there.

Ryan bowed gracefully. Ava dipped in perfect synchronization.

And then—

The scroll.

Ryan opened it with a grand flourish, holding it up like a royal decree.

"My esteemed fiancée," he intoned, "per our sacred contract, you shall refer to me as Oppa—with adoration—once an hour."

Ava turned to the audience, deadpan. "I’m marrying an egomaniac. Please send help."

Laughter rippled through the room.

Min Seo-jun smirked from her seat. Even Madam Choi’s mouth twitched faintly.

Ryan clasped Ava’s hand with theatrical tenderness, voice dropping just enough to sound real. "Clause Two: Public displays of affection shall be mandatory."

He pulled her closer—gentle but unrelenting—until the space between them disappeared.

Ava tilted her chin up to glare at him, but her body betrayed her, heart sprinting ahead.

Clause Three, her mind screamed.

She smiled sweetly. "Clause Three: Violators of cuddle expectations shall pay a shaved ice penalty."

Ryan grinned, his thumb brushing over her wrist—a touch too natural.

She leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, the soft fall of her hanbok brushing against his chest.

"Oppa," she murmured.

The crowd roared.

Ryan flinched theatrically, hand tightening on her waist.

For one dizzy second, Ava forgot the lights. The cameras. The pretend.

There was only this: the pulse between them. The gravity.

She barely remembered to bow when the bell chimed, their presentation over.

They left the stage hand in hand, hearts pounding, the audience still buzzing behind them.

---

They stumbled backstage, laughter bubbling out of Ava unchecked.

"That was either genius," she panted, "or a career-ending scandal."

Ryan grabbed two water bottles from the tray, tossing her one. "You were perfect."

"I weaponized oppa and basic physical contact."

"You weaponized my entire soul," he muttered, smiling like he hadn’t quite survived it.

They ducked behind a decorative screen, out of direct line of sight.

Ava leaned back against the wall, chest still heaving. "We’re supposed to be pretending."

Ryan’s voice was low, raw. "Who says I’m pretending?"

Her breath caught.

Ryan stepped closer, until his forehead brushed hers, their noses almost touching. His hand settled lightly over her hip like it had always belonged there.

"If you actually wrote that contract," he whispered, "I’d sign it."

Ava’s heart cracked clean down the middle.

But before she could say something reckless—or kiss him until Seoul became background noise—a summit staffer called their names.

"VIP interviews! Now, please!"

Ryan grinned against her skin. "To be continued, Mrs. Contract."

Ava rolled her eyes but let him tug her back into the light, back into the show.

And somewhere deep inside, where she never let herself believe too much—

Ava realized she didn’t want to keep pretending anymore.

---

Before Ava could fully catch her breath from the chaos onstage, Mei swept into the backstage lounge like a one-woman typhoon.

"Ava! Ryan!" Mei called, fanning herself dramatically with a limited edition Seoul Summit program. "You survived your first public contract! I’m so proud I could launch a confetti cannon!"

Harold hustled behind her, struggling to balance a small tray of herbal tea and what looked suspiciously like a celebratory rice cake tower.

Ava blinked, dazed. "You’re—how did you even get back here?"

Mei smiled sweetly. "Old connections."

Which was apparently code for bribed the staff with artisanal green tea blends.

Before Ava could ask more, a new, unexpected voice cut in:

"So you’re Mei’s wild child."

Ava turned—and froze.

Madam Choi stood there, looking regal and severe in her deep maroon hanbok, arms folded, an eyebrow arched so high it practically touched her hairline.

Ava straightened instinctively, pulse tripping.

But then, to Ava’s horror—and Ryan’s barely smothered amusement—Mei squealed.

"Choi-ah!" Mei cried, rushing forward and grabbing Madam Choi’s hand in both of hers. "You still look terrifying! I love it."

To Ava’s complete shock, Madam Choi—Seoul’s scariest traditional matchmaker—actually smiled. A tiny, real smile, tight at the edges but unmistakably fond.

"You still cause chaos wherever you go, Mei," Madam Choi said, dry as winter wind.

"And you still judge from the shadows like a judgmental cat," Mei shot back cheerfully.

Harold whispered to Ryan, loud enough for Ava to hear, "They’ve been frenemies since 1978. Long story."

Ava blinked. "Frenemies?"

Mei beamed. "Oh, yes! We competed for the Seoul Love Crown back in our youth! I won, obviously." She winked. "Choi never forgave me."

Madam Choi muttered, "You bribed the judges with tteok."

"It was festive hospitality!" Mei protested.

Ava covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

Madam Choi turned her sharp gaze to Ava again—measuring, heavy, but not unkind.

"You have spirit," she said bluntly. "Messy. Loud. But... not without potential."

It was, Ava realized, the highest compliment she was probably ever going to get from her.

She bowed respectfully. "I’ll try to make you regret saying that."

Madam Choi’s mouth twitched again—dangerously close to another smile.

Mei clapped her hands once. "Perfect! Come, we’ll all have tea later. I want to hear all about Ava’s plans to dismantle the matchmaking patriarchy!"

Madam Choi rolled her eyes, but didn’t say no.

Ryan leaned in to Ava as they were herded toward the refreshment tables.

"Remind me to thank your grandma later," he murmured.

"Why?"

"Because somehow you inherited all of that chaos. And it’s my favorite thing in the world."

Ava smiled, heart light for the first time since arriving.

Maybe Seoul wasn’t ready for her.

But with her disaster family behind her?

She was ready for anything.