The television glowed quietly in the living room, casting pale blue light across marble floors and high walls that swallowed sound the way the mansion always did.
Lee Jae-min stood in front of it, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that was never casual. The news anchor's voice was steady, professional, rehearsed.
"Breaking news this evening. The finance manager of K Group was found dead early this tonight, after falling from the rooftop of the company's headquarters. Authorities have ruled it a suspected suicide..."
Jae-min didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Didn't change expression.
The image shifted to flashing red lights, police tape, blurred figures. Speculation followed. Words like pressure, investigation, corruption floated through the air, hollow and incomplete.
Behind him, the front doors of the mansion opened.
Seo-rin stepped inside.
She was soaked through, hair plastered to her cheeks, coat heavy with rain, water pooling quietly at her feet. The cold clung to her skin, but she barely noticed it. Her body felt distant, as though she were moving through the world slightly out of sync.
Jae-min turned.
He didn't ask where she had been.
Didn't ask why she was drenched.
Didn't comment on the faint tremor in her hands.
He only looked at her.
His gaze moved over her once, slow and careful, as if cataloging details he would store away for later. Then, without a word, he turned back to the television and reached out, muting it.
Silence settled.
Seo-rin stood there another moment, waiting for something, for a question, an accusation, reassurance, anything. None came.
She walked past him and up the stairs.
In her room, she peeled off her wet clothes one piece at a time, hands stiff, movements mechanical. The mirror reflected a woman she barely recognized, eyes too bright, skin too pale, lips pressed thin with restraint.
She wrapped herself in a robe and stepped out onto the balcony, needing air, needing distance from walls that suddenly felt too close.
Below, in the courtyard, she saw Jae-min.
He carried her discarded clothes in his hands. Without hesitation, without ceremony, he dropped them into the metal drum near the garden wall and struck a lighter.
Flames rose quickly, greedy and bright, devouring fabric and memory alike.
Seo-rin watched from above, her fingers tightening around the balcony railing. Something twisted in her chest, not fear exactly, not relief either. Something quieter. He wasn't erasing evidence. He was erasing exposure.
As if he felt her gaze, Jae-min looked up.
Their eyes met.
He didn't look angry.
He didn't look surprised.
He looked… resigned.
When he returned inside, he stopped at the base of the stairs and looked up at her again.
"You were caught on footage," he said calmly.
That was all.
No accusation.
No explanation.
No comfort.
Then he turned and walked away, disappearing down the corridor toward his own room.
Seo-rin stayed on the balcony long after the fire burned out, watching smoke fade into the night.
___________________
The call came the next morning.
Unknown number.
She answered it anyway.
A distorted voice greeted her, artificial and cruel. "We have footage from yesterday."
Her grip tightened around the phone.
"You leave the building at 7:42 p.m. You don't look innocent," the voice continued. "Transfer the documents we asked for, or the video goes public."
Seo-rin tried everything, denial, bargaining, threats. None of it worked. The voice didn't rise, didn't waver.
"You have twenty-four hours," it said, and the call ended.
She stared at her phone until the screen dimmed.
________________
Chief Prosecutor Park lay sprawled behind his desk, blood spreading slowly across the polished floor, dark and unmistakable. The office smelled of metal and expensive cologne, the curtains still drawn, the desk lamp casting a cruel, focused light on the body.
Kim Ara stood frozen in the doorway.
She had seen death before, court photos, crime scene reports, but nothing prepared her for the weight of it in person. The silence pressed against her ears. Her pulse thudded too loudly.
The footage.
That was all she could think about.
She forced herself to move, stepping carefully around the body, eyes scanning the room. She searched the desk drawers, his jacket pockets, the safe behind the painting. Nothing.
Her breath quickened.
Then
"Raise your hands. Slowly. And don't even think about running."
The voice came from behind her.
Ara's heart slammed into her ribs.
She turned.
And froze.
Detective Choi Yun stood there, gun raised, eyes wide, not with suspicion, but shock.
"Ara," he breathed.
"Choi Yun," she whispered back.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Years of unspoken words crowded the space between them, cases shared, glances held too long, promises joked about but never tested.
His eyes dropped briefly to the blood on the floor. Then back to her face.
"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, urgency threading his voice.
"I..." She swallowed. "I didn't kill him."
"I know." He didn't hesitate. That certainty hurt more than doubt would have.
He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her toward the door.
"Go. Now."
She didn't move.
"Choi..."
"Leave," he snapped, louder now, panic breaking through his control. "Ara, leave now."
She searched his face, seeing the decision already made there. He was choosing, for her.
Slowly, she stepped back.
"I'll come back," she whispered.
He didn't respond.
As soon as she was gone, Choi Yun moved fast. He wiped surfaces, erased fingerprints, rearranged the scene with the precision of someone who knew exactly how investigations worked.
When he walked out to report that Chief Prosecutor Park had taken his own life, his face was calm, professional.
Only when he reached the hallway did something flicker at the edge of his vision.
Movement.
He turned sharply.
Lee Jae-min stepped out from the office closet, dressed in black, face half-hidden by a mask.
"Stop!" Choi Yun shouted, breaking into a run.
Jae-min didn't look back.
They raced through the corridors, down stairwells, into the underground parking lot. A car slid into place between them with perfect timing. The door opened.
Jae-min stepped inside.
The engine roared to life, tires screeching as the car vanished into the dark.
Choi Yun stood there, chest heaving, staring at the empty space where the man had been.
Flashback
Chief Prosecutor Park sat behind his desk, hands shaking as Lee Jae-min placed a gun gently in front of him.
"This isn't a threat," Jae-min said calmly. "It's a choice."
Park's eyes darted to the door. "You can't do this."
"I already have," Jae-min replied.
"You destroyed my family," he continued, voice even. "You took bribes to bury evidence, you blackmailed my wife with manipulated footage, and now you're attempting to rewrite history."
Park's breath came fast. "What do you want?"
"Dignity," Jae-min said. "You can die as a man who broke under pressure. Or you can force my hand."
The silence stretched.
Park's shoulders slumped.
"I never thought you'd come in person," he whispered.
"I don't trust intermediaries," Jae-min said.
Park picked up the gun.
Jae-min turned away before the shot rang out.
___________
Back in the present, Lee Jae-min removed his mask in the car, gaze steady, unshaken.
Another debt settled.
Another threat erased.
And still, only one thing occupied his thoughts.
Kim Seo-rin.
Because power meant nothing if she wasn't safe.
And he would burn the world to keep it that way.