I Woke Up Married to the Cursed King

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Wrong Ghost, Wrong Room

The shop smelled like sandalwood and burned sage.

Arjun liked it that way. Good smells meant serious clients. Serious clients meant serious money.

He adjusted the Tibetan singing bowl on the table and leaned back in his chair.

Seoul. Not bad.

The city had been good to him. Better than Chengdu. Way better than Mumbai.

The door opened without a knock.

Two men walked in.

Arjun clocked them in under three seconds.

Expensive shoes. Bad posture. The kind of stillness that came from hurting people for a living.

The one in front was older. Mid-fifties. Silver-haired. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Arjun’s rent.

The one behind him was younger. Maybe thirty. Thick neck. Eyes that kept moving. He had the look of a man who checked his phone too often and was trying not to right now.

Boss. Bodyguard.

Arjun smiled. Warm. Practiced.

"Welcome. Please, sit."

The boss sat. The bodyguard stood by the door.

"I was told," the boss said, in Korean, "that you are the best."

"I am the only one who does this properly," Arjun said. His Korean was accented but clean. "There is a difference."

The boss’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Respect, maybe. Or amusement.

"My fortune. I want to know what the next year looks like."

Of course you do.

Arjun placed his hands flat on the table. He let his eyes go soft. The trick was to actually look — past the man’s face, past the expensive suit — and check.

Ghosts, if they were there, showed up in the edges of things.

Ghosts lied less than living people. But they still lied.

He looked.

The boss was clean. Nothing attached — and Arjun clocked the why of it almost immediately. A man like that didn’t stay clean by accident. Someone kept him that way. A shaman on retainer, probably, brought in on a schedule to scrub off whatever followed him home from a life like his. Smart. Expensive. The kind of precaution only people with real money and real enemies bothered with.

Not bad work, whoever you are, Arjun thought, with the professional respect of one practitioner clocking another’s craftsmanship. Almost as clean as I would have left him.

He glanced at the bodyguard.

Oh.

There was a woman standing next to him.

Young. Maybe mid-twenties. She was watching the bodyguard with an expression Arjun knew well.

Love. Or what was left of it.

She didn’t look threatening. She didn’t look angry. She looked tired, the way people look when they’ve been carrying something for too long.

Friendly ghost. Probably family. Sister, maybe.

Arjun filed it away and turned his attention back to the boss.

"The coming year is strong for you," he said. "There is momentum in your finances. A consolidation of power."

He kept his voice low. Certain. He talked for three minutes.

The boss listened without blinking.

When Arjun finished, the boss nodded slowly.

"And him?" He tilted his chin toward the bodyguard.

The bodyguard looked surprised to be included. He straightened slightly. His hand moved — just for a second — toward his jacket pocket, where the outline of a phone was visible. Then he stopped himself.

Arjun glanced at him again.

The ghost beside the bodyguard stepped forward.

She pointed at her own stomach.

Arjun blinked.

She did it again. Pointed at her stomach, then at the bodyguard, then held up her hands — please, tell him, please.

Ah. She wants me to pass something along.

"There is a spirit near you," Arjun said carefully. "A woman. Young."

The bodyguard’s face went very still. freёweɓnovel.com

His hand moved toward his pocket again. Stopped. Like his body wanted to call someone and his brain knew it was already too late.

The ghost nodded rapidly.

"She wants you to know," Arjun said, watching the ghost’s gestures, "that the woman in your life — she is pregnant. She doesn’t know what to do. She is scared. She wants to know if you will—"

"Stop."

The boss’s voice was quiet.

Arjun stopped.

The room temperature dropped two degrees.

The boss leaned forward slowly. "Say that again."

Arjun looked at him. Something cold moved through his chest.

Wait.

"The woman," the boss said. "Describe her."

Arjun opened his mouth.

The ghost covered her face with her hands.

Oh no.

"She’s — " Arjun’s mouth went dry. "She’s in her late twenties. Short hair. There is a small scar near her—"

"Left eyebrow," the boss said softly.

Silence.

The bodyguard had stopped breathing.

Arjun looked at the ghost.

The ghost was laughing.

Shoulders shaking, head thrown back, laughing without sound like she’d been waiting years for this exact moment.

Revenge ghost.

I should have taken the money and said ’very good fortune, very bright year, thank you, goodbye.’

The boss stood up.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

"You," he said to the bodyguard. "Come here."

The bodyguard didn’t move.

"Come. Here."

He moved.

Arjun stood up from his chair. "Wait — whatever you’re thinking, this is a misunderstanding, spirits can be—"

The gunshot was very loud in the small room.

The bodyguard hit the floor.

The boss looked down at him. Something old and ugly moved across his face.

"I knew it was you," he said quietly. "I always knew."

He crouched down. Not to check if he was alive. Just to look at him.

"My sister," he said. "You think I forgot?"

Arjun’s legs were not working properly.

Sister.

He looked at the ghost.

She was already fading.

Not violently. Not painfully. Just — dissolving, the way smoke dissolves when the wind finally comes. She looked lighter than she had a minute ago. Like something had been put down.

She turned to Arjun.

And she waved.

Small. Almost polite.

Goodbye.

Then she was gone.

The boss stood up and turned around.

He looked at Arjun the way you look at a receipt before you throw it away.

"You know a little too much."

Arjun’s hands were up. He was already talking. Rapid, calm, professional. Explaining. Offering refunds. Offering silence. Offering anything.

The boss shook his head.

I should have taken the money and kept my mouth shut.

The second shot was even louder than the first.

Arjun looked down.

The floor was coming up to meet him fast.

Huh, he thought.

The sandalwood incense was still burning, a thin curl of smoke rising toward the ceiling.

Used, he thought. I got used by a dead woman.

The ghost had already vanished — done, gone wherever ghosts went once they got what they needed.

Arjun lay on the floor of his shop and had the distinct thought that this was not how he’d expected the day to go when he’d gotten up that morning, adjusted the singing bowl, and thought Seoul. Not bad.

Respect, honestly, he thought. That was a well-executed revenge.

The ceiling was very white.

He’d always meant to repaint it.

Then it was nothing.