The world around me dissolved into swirling colors, a melting sherbet sky that bled into the air.
A cold chill bit at my skin, and the vague shapes of trees materialized from the haze.
A forest? It was all a blurry watercolor painting.
I tried to look up, but the trees stretched into an impossible, dizzying height. Were trees always that tall?
A blurry, oversized moon shone down, its light doing little to cut through the fog. Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet crumbled away without a sound, plunging me into a dark, formless void.
My fall stopped abruptly.
Something had caught me. An arm? A hand? My eyes strained, trying to un-squint, to focus.
A face swam above me in the haze—unrecognizable, but the short hair suggested a man. His eyes... they were a distinct, piercing shade of grey... I was trying to look at him more, to make out his features...
—CRASH!
My eyes snapped open and I jolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The impossibly comfy mattress, which had held me like a giant marshmallow, now felt like a trap.
I fumbled for the alarm clock on the bedside table, its digital numbers glowing a harsh red: 11:07 PM.
The noise came again—a shattering, intrusive sound in the profound silence of the apartment.
My blood ran cold. 'What was that? It's not like Butler Kim is gonna be here at this time...'
I slid out of bed, my bare feet silent on the cool floor. Creeping to the door, I opened it a slowly and peered into the hallway.
Empty. The sound came again from the main living area—less of a crash now, more like a faint snickering and the rustle of movement. It was definitely coming from the kitchen.
'Is that someone? Who is it at this hour?' My chest tightened as I held my breath, inching forward.
'Wait! Is this a robbery?' I froze mid-step. 'I did hear that luxury apartments like this are prime targets for theft.'
With a resigned sigh, I continued my stealthy approach. I reached the kitchen entrance and dared a slow peek inside.
A small, eerie blue light emanated from the open refrigerator. And behind the door, I could see two tall, slender legs clad in what looked like... very expensive trousers.
I ducked back behind the wall, my heart trying to beat its way out of my ribcage.
'Oh my God! I am seriously being robbed! Well, too bad for him, he won't find anything valuable. I'm not rich... wait.'
A giddy, hysterical thought bubbled up. 'I AM rich now! Hehehe, I'm rich! NO—focus! That is NOT the problem right now!'
I steeled myself. 'I have to do something. I can't just let him steal my stuff! That's right, all those self-defense classes I watched in YouTube compilations weren't for nothing!'
I slipped into the kitchen on tiptoe.
And as if luck itself had handed me a weapon, a sleek, heavy frying pan sat on the kitchen island.
I hefted it, a surge of adrenaline numbing my fear as I closed in on the intruder.
He was still completely absorbed in the fridge's contents.
'Doesn't he get cold? Or is he just that hungry? ...Okay, fair, I can understand that. Food is important.'
I took another step, and his form came into clearer view.
Those legs were impossibly long. His pants were a tailored masterpiece. I could see one hand holding the fridge door, the veins on his forearm prominent under the faint light. I swallowed hard.
'That is one hell of a thief. He should really work on modeling instead of thi—'
"KYAA~!"
A sharp piece of... something... dug into the sole of my bare foot. I squeaked, lurching forward.
The man suddenly straightened up and closed the fridge door, turning in one smooth motion.
My body moved on pure, startled instinct, my hands flew up—and the pan went sailing through the air, flying straight toward the man's head as he spun around at the sound.
—CLANG!
The sound of metal meeting... presumably his skull... echoed through the penthouse like a tragic, comedic gong.
* * *
Two Hours Earlier at Han Group headquarters...
On the top floor, a door of polished dark wood stood imposingly, its only adornment a sleek, golden nameplate that simply read: CEO Han.
Inside, the office was a testament to modern, uncompromising power. Vast, minimalist, and silent save for the whisper of the climate control.
A monolithic desk of black lacquer stood clear of everything but a single monitor and a neat stack of documents.
The walls were bare, save for one: a floor-to-ceiling window that offered a commanding view of the city below.
Behind the desk, Han Eun Woo worked with a focused intensity.
His tailored suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair, and he worked in his crisp white shirt, the cuffs neatly folded back to his elbows.
One hand raised a financial report, his eyes scanning the figures, while the other typed swiftly on his keyboard, cross-referencing data on the screen.
His movements were precise, efficient—a machine processing the lifeblood of his conglomerate.
Then, for just a moment, they stilled. His gaze lifted from the papers, drawn across the room and through the large window.
His eyes found the secretary's bullpen, and within it, a single figure.
Even from this distance, Lee Yoon-ah had an aura that commanded his attention. She was a picture of dedicated calm amidst the chaos of the office, her posture perfect, her focus absolute.
Unconsciously, the stern line of his mouth softened. A small, almost unrecognizable smile touched his lips—a fleeting crack in the stone façade, there and gone in a heartbeat. He reached a hand toward the intercom on his desk.
The movement was aborted by the shrill, sudden ring of his private line.
His hand froze mid-air. The fleeting warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by cool detachment. He looked down at the screen.
The caller ID glowed ominously in the dimming office light:
Chairman Han.
In an instant, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The air grew heavier, colder. The last of the day's light seemed to retreat, and the spacious office suddenly felt like a gilded cage.
The polished black phone felt unnaturally heavy in Han Eun Woo's hand. He pressed the receiver to his ear.
Click.
"Hello, Father…" he said, his voice a calibrated blend of respect and neutrality.
The voice on the other end was a low, steady rumble, devoid of warmth, laying out directives with the efficiency of a boardroom presentation.
Eun Woo listened, his gaze fixed on the distant cityscape, his responses limited to quiet, affirmative hums. He was a vessel receiving orders.
Then, a single sentence from the Chairman sliced through the professional veneer.
Eun Woo's spine straightened imperceptibly. His eyes, usually so guarded, dilated in sheer, unadulterated shock. The financial reports before him blurred into meaningless ink smudges.
"I-I know," he stammered, the stutter a rare, unforgivable crack in his composure. The line went dead.
He slowly returned the phone to its cradle, the soft click echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence of the office.
He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, a sigh that carried the weight of his entire legacy.
His gaze, almost against his will, drifted back through the glass wall to the secretary's bullpen. To Lee Yoon-ah.
He stood abruptly, the movement sharp with restless energy. Snatching his suit jacket from the chair, he strode out of his office.
The sound of his door closing echoed in the vacant executive floor.
Secretary Lee, who had been gathering her things, immediately stood at attention, a picture of professional diligence even at this late hour. She bowed slightly.
"Are you going somewhere, Sir?"
Eun Woo's eyes swept over the dark, empty office, realizing they were the last two souls left.
"Yes," he replied, his voice softer than intended. "It seems it got late. We should clock out here for the day. I have to be somewhere else. You should leave too."
"Oh, then let me call Driver Yu—" she began, already reaching for her phone.
"You don't have to," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm driving myself today. I'm not going to the Han Manor."
He retrieved a small, pre-written card from his inner pocket and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed for a fleeting second, a static shock of a moment. "Come tomorrow morning with Driver Yu to this address."
Before she could form another word, question or otherwise, he was gone, his footsteps receding down the hallway toward the private executive elevator.
His car, a low-slung, obsidian German coupe, was a testament to power and control. But tonight, he wielded that power with a frantic edge.
The engine roared to life, a beast unleashed, and he sped through the neon-lit arteries of Seoul, the city lights streaking past in blinding ribbons.
Stopped at a red light, the forced inertia was agony. His mind, usually a fortress of order, was under siege.
The image of a drenched Lee Yoon-ah, water dripping from her hair, her uniform plastered to her skin, flashed behind his eyes.
The sheer, bewildering audacity of Austra Law's action replayed in a loop. 'How could she? No matter her petty jealousies, such a public, humiliating act was beyond the pale.'
Then, he remembered the rest of it: Austra's unhinged laughter, a sound so foreign and unsettling it had frozen the entire office.
The way he'd seen her later, just staring blankly at her reflection in a vending machine, a look of profound, existential confusion on her face—a far cry from her usual haughty spite.
It was… strange.
'I shouldn't care,' he chastised himself, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
But his thoughts, treacherous, drifted back to Yoon-ah.
The way she had sneezed, a small, muffled sound, after he'd draped his jacket over her shoulders. She had insisted she was fine, but the delicate flush on her cheeks had been… endearing.
The light turned green. With a suppressed growl, he slammed the accelerator, the car lurching forward as if to outrun his own thoughts.
He navigated to the address on the card, an impeccably modern high-rise that promised luxury and anonymity.
The underground parking garage was a cavern of concrete and silence. The elevator ride to the penthouse was swift and silent.
He reached a single door at the end of a private hallway. Using the key that had been messengered to him, he entered.
Darkness. And silence. A deep, hollow quiet that felt more isolating than his office ever had.
"So, this is the place I'm supposed to live at?" he muttered to the stillness, his voice absorbed by the plush carpets and high ceilings.
He tossed his coat onto a large, sectional sofa that was a vague silhouette in the gloom. His eyes, adjusting, scanned the open-plan space. It was pristine, sterile, and utterly empty of life.
'Did she not arrive yet?' The thought was an unwelcome intrusion. He wasn't sure why he expected her to be here, or why the thought even occurred to him.
Fatigue, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion that was more mental than physical, settled over him.
He needed a drink.
He moved toward the kitchen, a landscape of marble and dark wood, guided by the faint ambient light from the city windows.
He opened a high cabinet, feeling for the shape of a wine bottle. His fingers closed around the cool neck of one.
Reaching for a glass, his hand fumbled in the absolute darkness.
One stemmed glass tipped, kissed its neighbor, and then fell, its shattering cry a violent violation of the penthouse's silence.
—CRASH!
He stilled, irritation flaring.
Crouching, he carefully picked up the larger shards, his movements economical and precise.
He dumped the pieces down the metal trash chute built into the counter, the sound of tinkling glass echoing down its length—another soft, percussive crash in the night.
Abandoning the wine, he turned to the refrigerator, its door a seamless panel in the cabinetry. He pulled it open, the interior light casting a cold, blue glow that illuminated his sharp, tired features.
"What do we have here?" he murmured, his eyes scanning the nearly bare shelves. His mind was too scattered to focus.
His gaze landed on a lone pint of artisanal ice cream. A childish, utterly impractical choice. 'Should I have this for now instead of the wine…hmm?'
The thought was so absurd it almost made him smile.
It was in that exact moment of unguarded hesitation that a sudden, sharp "KYAA~!" pierced the silence from directly behind him.
His head instinctively whipped toward the sound, his body tensing.
But before his brain could even register the shape in the darkness, a solid, heavy object—sailing with improbable force—connected squarely with the side of his head.
The world exploded in a supernova of pain, and then, blessedly, nothing.