The garden behind the courthouse was quieter than it should have been.
Too manicured.
Too deliberate.
Every hedge was trimmed into obedience, every path clean enough to reflect the sky. It was the kind of place meant for reflection, for staged photographs, for lies dressed as peace.
Kim Ara arrived first.
She stood near the fountain, hands folded in front of her, eyes fixed on the water as it fell in steady arcs. Her reflection broke and reformed with every ripple. She liked it that way. It felt honest.
When Detective Choi Yun appeared at the far end of the path, she didn't turn immediately. She heard him before she saw him, his footsteps were familiar, measured, always careful, like a man who never rushed toward anything he couldn't arrest.
"You wanted to see me," he said.
She turned.
"You asked me to meet," she corrected gently.
He studied her face longer than necessary. There were shadows beneath her eyes that hadn't been there before. Lines tension had drawn quietly, overnight.
"Why were you really in that office?" he asked.
Ara exhaled slowly. "To find the footage."
"The one threatening Seo-rin."
"Yes."
"And?" His voice sharpened. "Did you see it?"
"No." She shook her head. "No USB. No drive. Nothing."
He watched her closely, weighing truth not by words but by pauses. Ara didn't flinch.
"I wouldn't lie to you," she added quietly.
He nodded once, as if confirming something to himself.
"The prosecutor called me that night," Choi Yun said. "Asked me to come by for a late discussion. Said it was about an internal report."
Ara's fingers curled slightly. "And you believed him."
"I didn't have a reason not to."
The silence between them thickened, carrying all the things neither of them said aloud, if I had arrived earlier, if you hadn't gone alone, if things had been different.
"You know this wasn't suicide," Ara said.
"I know." His jaw tightened. "But knowing and proving are two different things."
She looked at him then. Really looked. At the exhaustion etched into him, the restraint that kept him standing when rage would have been easier.
"I was trying to protect her," she said softly.
"So was I."
Their eyes met.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them, unresolved, intimate, dangerous. Then Choi Yun stepped back, putting distance where emotion threatened to cross lines neither of them could afford to blur.
"If you find anything," he said, "you come to me. First."
Ara nodded. "And if you find out who's pulling the strings?"
A beat.
"I won't hesitate."
Neither would she.
_________________
Lee Jae-min's study was dark except for the glow of three screens.
He sat alone, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled back, watching the same footage again.
And again.
Kim Seo-rin stood on the rooftop, rain streaking down concrete, her hair pulled back, posture rigid. The finance manager stood across from her, hands trembling, sweat visible even through the grainy camera feed.
Their voices didn't carry clearly, but the tension was unmistakable.
He leaned forward slightly.
Paused.
Enhanced.
Seo-rin spoke calmly. Too calmly for someone cornered. She wasn't threatening. She wasn't begging. She was offering him a way out.
The manager shook his head violently.
Then, something shifted.
Fear.
Not of her.
Of something else.
Someone else.
He stepped back.
The edge of the rooftop loomed behind him.
Seo-rin reached out instinctively, but too late.
The man smiled.
Not relief.
Resignation.
Then he let himself fall.
Jae-min stopped the footage.
His fingers tapped once against the desk.
"So you chose death," he murmured, more observation than judgment.
The footage didn't incriminate her.
But it didn't absolve her either.
Someone had wanted it this way.
Someone powerful enough to scare a man into choosing the ground over survival.
Jae-min leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.
"Show yourself," he said quietly to the empty room.
_______________
Seo-rin was reviewing documents when Jae-min's assistant knocked.
"Madam, President Lee requests your presence this evening."
She looked up. "For what?"
"A business dinner."
She hesitated. "With who?"
The assistant paused, then answered carefully. "With people who need to see you."
That was enough.
When Seo-rin emerged later, dressed in a sleek black gown that clung without trying, the room seemed to still. The fabric was simple. No ornament. Power didn't need decoration.
Jae-min waited near the entrance, dressed in a tailored suit so dark it absorbed light. When he looked at her, something unreadable crossed his expression, not admiration, not desire. Calculation edged with something quieter.
"You'll stay close," he said.
"I always do," she replied.
Their entrance into the venue was deliberate.
Unavoidable.
Conversation stalled. Eyes followed. Whispers spread like fire through dry grass.
That's her.
That's him.
That's them.
Seo-rin felt it, the weight of scrutiny, the judgment, the curiosity. She lifted her chin.
If they were going to watch, she would give them something worth remembering.
Jae-min's hand rested lightly at her back. Not possessive. Anchoring.
They moved like a single unit.
Unbreakable.
This was not a romance.
This was a declaration.
______________________
High above the city, glass walls framed Paris like a living organism, lights pulsing, streets breathing, secrets moving beneath the surface.
A man stood with his hands behind his back, staring down at it all.
Behind him, a monitor glowed.
Kim Seo-rin's messages.
Her locations.
Her patterns.
"She's more interesting than expected," he said lightly.
His assistant shifted. "It's time, sir."
The man smiled.
"Hello, Korea," he murmured. Then, softer, "Hello, Seo-rin."
The jet engine hummed to life.
And the game truly began.