I. The Chairman's New Mission
Kim Taehyung stared at the woman on his sofa, his mind, usually a fortress of logic, crumbling into panicked chaos. The ruthless Chairman persona offered no protocol for this: Managing the resurrection of a political rival with amnesia.
The memory of the temple vow, the broken glass, the blood—it all flashed through his mind, twisting the cold steel in his heart. The threat of Joo Yeong-ho and the escape of Kim Seok-jin momentarily faded. The most immediate crisis was the fragile, living evidence of his elaborate lie.
He took a slow, deep breath, forcing the 'Chairman' back in control. He had to assume she was compromised by the conspirators, yet treat her as the vulnerable victim she was.
"I am Kim Taehyung," he stated, his voice now regaining its controlled authority. He maintained a neutral, slightly distant expression, the one he reserved for junior executives.
Ha-eun tilted her head, observing him with the unsettling curiosity of a cat. "Taehyung," she repeated, tasting the name. "That's... tidy. And I am?"
"You are..." Taehyung paused, his mind scrambling for an identity that was both familiar enough to her subconscious yet completely untraceable. He couldn't risk calling her Bae Ha-eun. "You are Bae Eun-ji. You are a… a distant relative of mine. You had a terrible accident, and you are recovering here."
"Eun-ji," she murmured, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "A distant relative. And I was... what was my job? I feel like I should be very busy."
II. The Humorous Interlude
Taehyung had to invent an identity instantly that justified the expensive house, the blank canvas, and her intense, high-energy presence. He decided on the most innocuous, least likely high-pressure job for the ruthless Chairwoman.
"Your job," Taehyung began, trying to suppress a hysterical laugh, "You were a corporate poet. You wrote very profound, very funny poems for the company's internal memos to boost morale."
Ha-eun's eyes widened. "A poet! That sounds wonderfully frivolous! Did I write any good ones?"
Taehyung was trapped. He quickly recalled an absurd, slightly embarrassing limerick he had once read on a discarded memo Mr. Park had left behind.
"You were famous for a particularly popular limerick," Taehyung said stiffly. He cleared his throat and delivered the poem with the solemnity he usually reserved for announcing quarterly profits:
'The quarterly meeting was dire,
A spreadsheet of losses on fire.
So the CEO wrote a new rhyme,
"Don't worry, there's plenty of time,"
And then quietly tried to retire.'
Ha-eun burst out laughing—a raw, genuine laugh that was completely unlike the icy mirth of the former Chairwoman. "That's terrible! I love it! I must have been a highly ineffective poet."
"You were highly effective at morale," Taehyung lied smoothly. "You were also prone to eccentric behavior. Like painting blank canvases and telling knock-knock jokes to board members."
"A knock-knock joke?" Ha-eun prompted eagerly.
Taehyung sighed, pulling a tired, awkward joke from the depths of his memory, delivered with the deadpan precision of a man who would rather face prison. "Knock, knock. / Who's there? / O-P-P. / O-P-P who? / O-P-Posite of what you think!"
Ha-eun frowned, then suddenly started sketching furiously on a napkin. "The joke needs more visual tension. I must capture the disappointment."
III. The Security Lockdown
The funny interlude was over. Taehyung needed to secure the house immediately. This absurd, fragile 'Eun-ji' was his most valuable and dangerous secret.
"Eun-ji," Taehyung said, reverting to the Chairman's tone. "The doctor has ordered absolute rest. You cannot leave the house, and no one can know you are here. This is non-negotiable."
"Why?" she asked, her painter's focus momentarily broken.
"Because… because your last poem caused immense controversy. Your safety is compromised by rival poets," he improvised, unable to tell her the truth—that the whole world believed she was dead and a murderer was hunting her.
Taehyung pulled out his personal satellite phone.
Immediate Security: He commanded his trusted head of security to establish a silent, impenetrable perimeter around the house. No one in, no information out.
Official Narrative: He ordered the corporate media team to plant a story—a funny, embarrassing, and false rumor about Chairman Kim Taehyung suffering from extreme stress and retreating for two weeks of isolation. This justified his immediate absence.
As Taehyung ended the call, he looked at his living room: the formidable, ruthless Chairman was now the sole guardian of the amnesiac, joke-telling, painting-enthusiast Bae Eun-ji, who was supposed to be dead. The Unbroken Knot had just tightened around his throat.
Plot Hook for Part 10: How will Taehyung manage a highly energetic, amnesiac rival who wants to paint her way out of the house, while simultaneously running an empire from hiding and evading the true conspirators