The ballroom shimmered in gold and crystal. Chandeliers hung like crowns above the well-dressed elite, laughter and clinks of champagne glasses echoing beneath their murmured deals and hollow praises.
Tonight's charity auction was the kind of event that showcased not just wealth, but power.
Hana arrived late.
She wore a sleek black gown that trailed behind her like spilled ink, simple but elegant—though it paled beside Yuna's ethereal ensemble: a pale blue dress that sparkled like ice under moonlight.
Her stepmother had gifted it to her last week, gushing about how blue matched her "pure aura." Hana hadn't received so much as a new pair of heels.
Her father barely looked her way as she entered. "Don't embarrass us," he murmured, tone clipped. "And don't get in Yuna's way tonight."
Hana didn't respond. She couldn't. Not when the pain in her ankle still throbbed under the high heels, bandaged and barely healed from her mysterious fall down the stairs.
The fall Jin had witnessed and his doing — and said nothing about.
She stepped into the main hall, forcing herself not to limp.
The auction had already begun. Priceless jewelry, luxury vacations, rare wines — everything paraded before them like temptations no one could resist.
The host presented the next item: a one-of-a-kind sapphire necklace, sparkling with deep blue stones and encrusted with diamonds shaped like tiny feathers.
Hana's breath caught.
For once, something called to her. The necklace reminded her of the one her mother used to wear — not in design, but in feeling. It held the kind of dignity her mother had, the quiet elegance, the grace.
She raised her paddle.
"Two hundred thousand," she said softly.
Eyes turned, eyebrows lifted. She rarely bid. Her father didn't flinch, but she could feel his disapproval like a shadow at her back.
"Two hundred," the auctioneer confirmed.
But then—
"Three hundred," Yuna said sweetly, not even bothering to glance at Hana. She was sipping her wine as if bidding were a game.
Her father chuckled and patted Yuna's hand. "For your upcoming birthday, my dear."
"But I—" Hana started, then stopped.
The gavel hadn't fallen yet.
She could raise it again.
But her hand trembled.
Her father shot her a look — not of caution, but command. "You already have plenty of jewelry, Hana."
She almost laughed. "Jewelry"—as if she ever had any. Everything of value had been handed to Yuna, while she was left with nothing. Even the few precious pieces her mother had left her were quietly taken away, as if she had no right to remember her at all.
But before she could collect her pride and retreat, the auctioneer blinked. "We have a new bid. Five hundred thousand. From an anonymous participant."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Hana turned, as did many others. The bidder wasn't in the crowd.
Anonymous bidders rarely appeared — only when true power came into play.
Whispers echoed: "Who would spend that much?"
The host cleared his throat. "Item sold. To Mr. Ahn."
The name dropped like a thunderclap.
Ahn.
That was a name you didn't throw around casually.
Mr. Ahn's family owned over 60% of the city's infrastructure and trade. Their reach extended to politics, media, and real estate.
They were the kind of rich that didn't show up in magazines — they owned the magazines. The kind of power you couldn't challenge, because they already held the world in their palms.
Yuna flushed with delight.
"I-Is it really for me?" she whispered.
The host smiled. "A note came with the bid: 'For the brightest star on her birthday. May the world match her shine.'"
Everyone clapped.
Even their father beamed.
The spotlight hit Yuna, and Hana stood there in the shadows.
Always in the shadows.
She didn't clap.
She stared across the room instead — and saw him.
Jin.
Dressed simply in a black suit, he leaned by a pillar, his posture relaxed and unreadable. But his eyes were on Yuna, soft and shining, as if she were the only one that mattered.
That look . . .
That smile.
It wasn't the kind he gave Hana, full of vague politeness or guarded words.
This was adoration. This was love.
It hit her like a wave of ice water.
Of course.
She'd suspected it since the day she followed him on his day off. The way he'd entered that mysterious black Royce with the single-digit plate. A car belonging only to families in the highest tier of society.
Jin wasn't a driver — he was the heir of someone powerful.
And tonight, she was sure.
Mr. Ahn was Jin.
She was certain.
Yuna giggled behind her hand and whispered dreamily, "I hope Mr. Ahn comes to my birthday, so I can thank him personally."
Hana turned away.
She wanted to run, but her ankle protested. So she limped slowly toward the side exit, slipping past the crowd unnoticed.
Outside, the cold air bit her skin. She leaned against the marble column and let herself breathe.
She wasn't stupid. She wasn't even jealous anymore.
She was tired.
Tired of wanting to be seen.
Tired of hoping that someone — anyone — might look at her and see something worth choosing.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.
Jin.
He approached, his usual calm face unreadable. "Why are you out here?"
She straightened. "Too much perfume and hypocrisy inside."
He glanced at her bandaged foot. "You shouldn't be walking too much."
"Don't pretend to care now," she snapped before she could stop herself.
He blinked. "What?"
"I saw you right there on the stairs," she hissed. "You're the one who did this to me."
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he looked away.
"Whatever happened to you, you deserved it," he murmured. "You almost push Yuna in the stairs . . ."
"Have you ever ask me if that is true?" Hana whispered, voice cracking.
But he didn't respond.
And that silence hurt more than any lie.
She stepped past him and limped back into the shadows of the hall — where she belonged.
Jin watched Hana's retreating figure disappear into the crowd. He didn't understand it—his heart had always belonged to Yuna, or so he believed.
But lately, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get Hana out of his mind. Her silence echoed louder than words, and her sadness lingered longer than he expected.