Nari Hana's lips curved into a confident smile as her sharp words echoed in the room.
"Maybe it's time everyone finally knows the truth. I'm not just an employee here."
Her eyes locked onto Seojin, who stood silent yet calm, a small knowing smile tugging at his lips. The tension in the room was heavy, and Yui, unable to hold herself back, snapped.
"You… how dare you speak like this? Do you think you can stand in front of me and act like Seojin belongs to you?!" Her voice was laced with rage.
Nari tilted her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. "Belongs to me? You really want to know, Yui, why I call him by his name so freely?" She smirked, leaning closer, her voice low but sharp. "Because it's my right."
Confusion flickered in Yui's eyes, quickly replaced by blazing anger. "What do you mean by that? You yourself said before that there's some 'relationship' between you and him. What kind of relationship are you even talking about, huh?!"
The crowd of employees that had gathered looked from one woman to the other, their whispers filling the office. They had never seen such a scene before.
Finally, Nari Hana straightened her posture, her eyes glowing with boldness. With a loud, clear voice she declared,
"Fine then. I'll tell you all. The man you call Mr. Lang… Seojin… is my husband."
Gasps erupted around the office.
"What…?!"
"No way!"
"Is she serious?"
The employees exchanged shocked looks, gossip spreading like wildfire. No one could believe what they had just heard.
Before anyone could recover, Xi Xia, one of the bolder employees, stepped forward with a scornful expression. "You think too highly of yourself, Nari Hana. Who do you think you are?" She raised her hand, ready to slap Nari across the face in front of everyone.
But Nari's reflexes were quick. She caught Xi Xia's wrist mid-air, her grip firm, and with a sharp twist, she slapped her back instead. The sound echoed in the office, leaving everyone stunned.
"How dare you?!" Yui shouted, her face burning with rage. She spun toward Seojin, who had been watching silently. "And you! Why are you just standing there quietly? Why don't you say anything?!"
Seojin smirked at her outburst, his calmness only fueling the storm. "Miss Nari Hana," he finally spoke, his tone smooth and commanding, "come to my cabin."
The entire office froze. His words felt like fire in the already explosive atmosphere.
Yui's jealousy flared even hotter. She grabbed Nari's wrist, stopping her. "Don't you dare walk away like that. I'm not done with you. I'll deal with you later—but first, I need to talk to Seojin."
Nari chuckled softly, pulling her hand free. "Fine. Go ahead. But next time you touch me, Miss Yui, make sure you ask for permission. Otherwise… today it was only humiliation, but tomorrow—" she clapped her hands together dramatically "—it might be something worse."
The employees gawked as Nari Hana walked back to her desk, smirking, while Yui stormed furiously into Seojin's cabin and locked the door behind her.
Inside, the air grew heavier.
"I told you before," Seojin's voice was calm but firm, "our relationship must stay hidden. No one was supposed to know."
But Yui ignored his tone, her eyes blazing with betrayal. "How could you?! How could you marry her, Seojin? You promised me! You… you lied to me!" Her voice cracked as she pushed his chair back and straddled his lap, clutching his collar tightly.
"I hate you! You said you loved me! You told me I was the only one!" Her lips crashed onto his, desperate, broken.
But Seojin pushed her away roughly, his eyes cold and sharp. "I didn't betray you, Yui. You betrayed me first. Don't forget what you did."
His words hit her like a blade. She froze, tears welling in her eyes, trembling as she whispered, "No… Seojin… I did it all for us. If I hadn't done that, we would've lost everything…"
Her voice cracked, and tears streamed down her cheeks. The truth she had buried so deeply was clawing its way out.
Seojin rose from his chair and walked to the balcony, staring out at the city lights as if they might offer an answer. Behind him, Yui's voice broke the tense silence.
"Fine, Lang. Say whatever you need to say," she snapped, pacing like a caged animal. "But don't you forget—this time I won't let you go. Last time I didn't choose you, but now I did. I chose you, and I won't lose you again." Her fingers clenched around the edge of the desk as if to keep herself steady.
Seojin said nothing. He watched her for a beat, the night air cooling his face, while Yui's fierce declaration hung between them. Then, almost without warning, she spun, flung the cabin door open, and stormed out. She swept past the office doorway, eyes flashing; Nari Hana caught the final look Yui threw over her shoulder—spiked with fury and humiliation—and smiled inwardly as the other woman stormed away.
Nari's lips curved into a small, unreadable smile. She thumbed her phone and typed a single short message to the contact saved under the heart icon, then set the device down with composed purpose. The message was simple: It's time for the next move. She didn't wait for a reply. Instead she sat, folded her hands in her lap, and studied them as if reading a map.
"These hands have never hurt anyone," she murmured, almost to herself. "And yet… look what they survived." A laugh escaped her—soft, dangerous, and oddly relieved—as she rolled her knuckles and felt the steady thrum of resolve settle into her bones.
Before she could let the moment pass into dizzy triumph, Tai appeared at her desk with a complaint that wasn't her real reason for coming. Tai's face was serious; she kept glancing about as if someone might overhear. "Nari," she said quietly, lowering her voice. "I don't want to meddle, but… when you said Seojin is your husband earlier… are you serious?"
Nari met her friend's gaze coolly. "Why would you think I'm joking?"
Tai swallowed. "Because—look—if that's true, you don't understand what could happen to you. You don't know what their relationship is like. It isn't normal." Her voice dropped. "There's something buried between Yui and Seojin. Something no one can pry apart easily."
Nari frowned, nostrils flaring. "What do you mean—something buried? Who would try to separate them and fail?"
Tai leaned in and lowered her voice more. "Once, someone tried. A girl—apparently she was Seojin's childhood love. People say she tried to." Tai's hand trembled as she said it. "But she disappeared. She never showed up again. No one knows what happened to her. The rumor—" Tai glanced nervously down the corridor, then back to Nari— "the rumor is Yui had something to do with it."
The words landed like a stone. Nari's breath caught. "You saw her?" she whispered, hopeful for details.
"I didn't see her," Tai said quickly. "No one did. They say she was his first love—before Yui came in. People call her a 'missing girl'. Everyone insists Yui was involved. I'm telling you this because—" Tai's eyes pleaded— "be careful. Don't get too close. I'm scared for you."
Nari let the news unfurl inside her like a frost. Her chest tightened, but she gave Tai a small, steady nod. "Thanks for warning me," she said, voice even. When Tai left, Nari watched her go and felt the hairs rise on her arms. The office chatter resumed; smiles, thin and uncertain, returned to faces. But the seed of unease had been planted.
That evening, back in her apartment, the questions gnawed at Nari until she couldn't stand the ache. She tossed herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling, replaying Tai's words in the dark. A small, private flame of curiosity was burning into something hotter: a careful, controlled hunger for the truth.
She pushed back the duvet and reached into her wardrobe. Under the usual clothes she found the hidden zipper she had sewn into the lining months ago. Her fingers trembled with a mix of fear and exhilaration as she drew it open. Inside, folded neatly beneath a stack of ordinary shirts, lay a small card. She slid it out and traced the edges as if listening to its memory. No name — just the faint, embossed pattern along one side, and the slight scent of a room she'd long forgotten.
That memory pulled her like a current. She sprang up, grabbed the card, and hurried to the study. The study door clicked shut behind her. She double-locked it out of habit, then moved the books on the shelf until the hidden compartment revealed itself — the thin laptop she had concealed there long ago. For a moment she only stared at the black rectangle as if it were a coiled thing waiting to be woken.
The locket at her neck felt heavy. She unclasped it with shaking fingers and placed it beside the laptop. The metal chilled the pads of her fingers. She had always known this would be the key. It was the only thing that opened the device: a token of some other life, some other vow tucked away for emergencies and memory.
She set the locket flat against the laptop's edge and pressed the power. The soft hum leapt alive, and the tiny logo on the screen glowed. A password prompt blinked at her: Enter passphrase.
It had always been an odd, small ritual — three-letter code she had chosen when she was younger, when hope was a louder thing than fear. She typed, careful and precise: H.E.A.R.T.
The screen flared and opened to a private folder filled with files, videos, and notes Nari had never dared to touch in daylight. She let out a breath she had been holding for weeks. The first file she clicked was a video saved with a smiley name: Heart_LeftBehind.mp4.
On the screen, a young girl's face flooded the small study with light—warm, laughing, alive. Her voice, caught forever in grainy pixels, made Nari's throat tighten.
"Hello, world," the girl on the screen said, bright as a bell. "I'm Heart. And this is my little sister, Nari Hana." The younger girl — Nari herself — peered from the frame with a grin like a missing piece reappearing.
Nari pressed her palm flat over the playback and let the curves of memory roll across her skin; childhood summers, whispering secrets beneath the eaves, promises made in hushed giggles — all the small, luminous things someone could later try to steal.
The folder's other files were maps — not of roads but of people: names, dates, short notes about incidents that had never been public. An old photograph stared back at her: a boy with windblown hair, a girl with an uncertain smile — a fragment of Seojin's past. Beside it, someone had typed a single line: Missing. 10 years ago. Last seen near the Lang estate.
Nari scrolled faster, breath picking up. There were mentions of a truck, of a staged accident, of whispers that never reached the surface of headlines. Panic and anger braided together in her chest.
Someone had tried to erase pieces of a story. Someone had nearly succeeded. But here — in the hush of the study, with the glow of the laptop and the old locket warm beneath her hand — she could see the faint tracks the erasers had left behind.
A plan began to unspool in her mind: small, careful steps to follow the trail that had been hidden from everyone else. It would take time. It would take courage. It would take cruelty, perhaps. But as she read, the quiet resolve solidified. This was her life. These were the secrets that had shaped other people's choices. She would learn them, use them, and when the time came she would make the truth loud enough that nobody could cover it again.
She closed the laptop gently and pressed the locket to her lips as if making a pact. H.E.A.R.T. had opened doors once — it would again. And this time, Nari would decide exactly which doors would remain closed and which would be wrenched open.
Down the hall, the city throbbed with its ordinary noise, oblivious to the small war afoot. Nari slipped the card back into the hidden pocket, zipped the wardrobe, and stepped out of the study with a calm she did not entirely feel. Her face wore the same polite composure she had shown the office that morning — and the same smile that could be a shield or a blade.
Outside, somewhere in the labyrinth of the Lang family life, others were moving too: people playing parts, people hiding facts, people who believed themselves safe. Nari's breath was steady now, each inhale a measured promise.
She had the locket. She had the laptop. She had the card. And in the quiet room, beneath the low hum of electronics, the first true threads of her plan began to weave themselves.