"What were you thinking when you flew back?"
Namjoon's voice cracked through the bedroom like glass shattering, every syllable dripping with venom.
Seo-ra's lips parted, trembling with words that felt too fragile to leave her mouth. "I just wanted her to—"
His hands shot forward, clamping down on her shoulders with a grip so tight it made her robe shift against her skin. His jaw locked, eyes burning. "We both know that's not why you're here. Why are you really here, Seo-ra?" His voice was low, dangerous, demanding the truth.
"I… I want to help," she blurted out, her tone soft, desperate, almost childlike.
"Help?" Namjoon barked out a humorless laugh. "You would've been more helpful if you'd stayed in New York and never dragged Kira into this mess. What were you thinking? What can you possibly do, Seo-ra?" Each word sliced through her like a blade, deliberate and merciless.
Seo-ra lifted her chin, defiance flickering in her glassy eyes. "You may not believe it, but I can help you cover up your crimes—your insecurities—faster and more effectively than you think. Don't underestimate me, Namjoon. I've heard whispers… illegal stocks, black-market sales. I know more than you realize."
His grip slackened, falling away. For a brief moment his hands trembled before curling into fists. He leaned in close, voice seething. "Don't you dare get involved in my business. If you do… I won't even waver to kill you."
The bathroom door slammed behind him, the echo like a verdict closing in on her.
Seo-ra stood frozen, her robe slipping off one shoulder, heart pounding against her ribs. Rage rose like fire under her skin but had nowhere to go. She clenched her fists until her nails carved crescents into her palms.
"Everyone overestimates me," she whispered through gritted teeth. "But my husband? He only underestimates me—my power, my capabilities. And I can't do anything about it." Her voice shook, bitter and broken, but her eyes blazed with something dangerous.
---
Meanwhile, at the Hwan mansion—
Min-jae sat alone in his old room. Ten years had passed, yet the space looked untouched, as though time itself had been ordered to stop. The shelves sagged with the same books, the clock ticked faintly on the wall, and the air carried that faint cedar scent of old wood. Not dusty, though. Someone—Mrs. Hwan, surely—had cared for it in his absence.
He exhaled slowly, eyes drawn to the window where the full moon hung in the sky, cold and silver. His thoughts were broken by a knock at the door.
"Come in," he called.
Silence.
Another knock—lighter this time, almost playful. His brows furrowed as he stood, crossing the room to pull open the door. The hallway stretched out empty and dim.
"Down here."
He lowered his gaze.
Kira stood with her hair tied into two uneven buns, teddy bear clutched tightly against her chest, sleep tugging at her heavy eyes, though a mischievous smile tugged at her lips.
Min-jae blinked in disbelief. "Why are you here?"
"I can't sleep," she mumbled, shuffling past him without asking. She hopped onto his desk chair, her small feet dangling, rocking herself like it was her throne.
Closing the door behind them, Min-jae tilted his head, arms folded. "What happened?"
"The room is dark and scary," she rattled off. "I couldn't go to Grandma's because the hallway is creepier. Mom and Dad are already asleep. But then I saw your light." She looked up at him with that unshakable certainty only children had.
Min-jae sighed, leaning against the desk. "So… what do you want us to do now?"
Kira yawned, hugging her teddy tighter. "I'm not a difficult girl. Just ignore me, I'll sleep right here." She spun once in the chair, then tucked her legs up like a curled cat.
A smirk tugged at Min-jae's mouth despite himself. "You can sleep on the bed."
"I don't want to disturb your peace," she said stubbornly, eyes fluttering closed.
"I'll be working all night," he replied. "The bed's yours."
Her face lit up instantly. "You're now my best." She scrambled off the chair and jumped into the bed, burying herself in the sheets.
For a moment, silence fell, broken only by the faint tick of the old clock. Min-jae lingered by the window, moonlight painting his face in cold silver. His eyes softened as they slid to the small figure curled up in his bed. Something tightened in his chest.
He fetched the blanket, laying it gently over her. Kira murmured something incoherent before sinking deeper into sleep.
"You're just like your mother… but better," he whispered, exhaling.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Ga-young.
Min-jae stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him before answering. "Ms. Choi?"
"You sound exhausted," Ga-young's voice came brisk, businesslike—but edged with quiet concern. "I wouldn't call at this hour unless it was urgent. It's about the K&H Renaissance Project."
His brow knit. "The new line?"
"Yes. The designs and cosmetic formulas were meant to be airtight. But tonight, I got word—another company is preparing to announce something almost identical. Too perfect to be coincidence. Someone is leaking."
Min-jae's grip tightened on the sink, his reflection fractured in the mirror. "Namjoon."
"I can't confirm that," she said quickly, though her hesitation betrayed her thoughts. "But if it's him, it's not just sabotage. It's strategy. If the Renaissance launch fails, the board will turn to him by morning."
Moonlight cut harsh lines across Min-jae's face as he stared at himself in the mirror. "Lock everything down. Triple security. And Ms. Choi… find the mole. I want names."
"I've already started." She paused, then asked carefully, "Should we cancel the trip? Focus fully on the project?"
Min-jae shut his eyes, inhaling through clenched teeth. The trip wasn't just a company outing—it was his move, his plan. Canceling would hand victory to Namjoon before the fight even began.
"No," he said firmly. "The trip goes on. Shut down the project for now, quietly. Buy us time. We'll rebuild before anyone realizes what's missing."
"Yes, sir." Her voice steadied, but the call ended with unspoken tension.
The silence afterward pressed heavy.
Min-jae dropped the phone onto the counter and braced himself against the sink. His reflection stared back at him—eyes shadowed, mouth a hard line, looking more stranger than self. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.
"It's fine. Don't let him get to you. That's what he wants."
He shut his eyes, the words scraping raw against his throat. His fist struck the sink once, sharp and hollow.
"It's fine…" he whispered again, though the man in the mirror didn't look convinced.