A heavy, suffocating silence hung over the room, broken only by the occasional sniffle and the relentless, low whispers. I stood near the back, clutching my worn handbag, feeling like an unwelcome ghost at a feast. The massive portrait of the late Chairman, stern and unsmiling even in death, dominated the center of the funeral hall.
"I bet she's happy now that her rich, old husband is dead," a voice hissed, so close I could feel the breath near my ear. I didn't turn around, knowing exactly which two gossips were hiding behind the large floral arrangement.
"How did he die...?" the other asked, her tone dripping with mock concern.
"They say it was some kind of illness, but who knows?" came the reply. A quick, sharp Tsk Tsk sound followed. "I heard his only son will be inheriting everything."
My heart gave a sickening lurch. The son. I knew what they were leading up to.
"What's the bet that viper will find a way to get her hands on it all, one way or another," the first voice sneered.
A beat of silence, then a sharp, cautionary "Shhhh! Be careful, someone might hear you!"
"Who cares? No one thinks he's the chairman's real son anyway."
That was the bomb. The ugly, open secret that everyone in this gilded, greedy circle chewed on like cud. They were right. Everyone knew.
"That's true... the child is the spitting image of the family driver."
I finally risked a glance. They were looking right at her: the Chairman's young widow. She was a statue in her black hanbok, tearless, perfect, holding a handkerchief delicately. She looked exhausted, but not-as they had hoped-crushed.
"Yeah, right? And look at her. She's been pretending that he's the Chairman's son without even blinking an eye."
The speaker leaned in, lowering her voice dramatically, but not enough to truly be private. "Oh, it's so filthy!"
I gripped my handbag tighter. Filthy. Everything in this room felt filthy: the whispers, the false condolences, the black-and-white spectacle of grief staged for the newspapers. The dead man was no saint, and the living were worse. The inheritance, the secret child, the whispers of murder-it was a web of lies so tangled I wasn't sure anyone could ever cut their way free. But one thing was clear: the Chairman's death was not the end of the drama. It was the starting gun.
I knew the driver. I knew the widow. And I knew the boy. And as I looked at the icy composure of the woman at the center of the storm, I knew that whatever happened next, she was a survivor. They called her a viper, but maybe a viper was exactly what this family deserved.
I stirred my cup of tea, letting the steam tickle my face. The scent of jasmine did little to calm the knot of resentment in my chest. Across the table, Ajin was holding her own teacup, looking composed, too composed. Beside her, the supposed "son" - my stepbrother, if we had to be formal about it - ate quietly, his eyes darting between us.
"That cup is quite dirty!" I announced, making sure my voice carried a sharp, clear ring that cut through the silence.
Ajin stopped mid-sip, a fleeting moment of surprise crossing her features before she smoothed it away. "What...?"
The boy looked down at his own bowl. "It looks clean to me..." he mumbled. Useless.
I leaned forward, offering a dazzlingly fake smile to my stepbrother before returning my gaze to Ajin. "I swear, there's grime all over that cup. Right, Mother?" The word "Mother" felt like venom on my tongue, and I loved the way her jaw subtly clenched when I used it. It was a perfect, little power play. "Shall I go get you a new one?" I offered, knowing full well the servants had already cleared the kitchen. It was simply about making her feel uncomfortable, making her acknowledge my presence and my power.
A moment later, as I watched her hand grip the delicate porcelain rim-a grip that betrayed her inner turmoil-the words flashed through my mind, raw and furious: YOU LITTLE B*H... AJIN.
She had wormed her way into this family, pretending her son was one of us, thinking she'd have it all her way now that the old man was gone. I was here to show her how wrong she was.
"I won't let you have it your way..." I thought, letting my gaze hold hers. Let her read the threat in my eyes.
Then, I shifted gears, allowing a saccharine tone to replace the hostility. "Would you like to go shopping with me after we're done eating?"
She hesitated for a beat-a precious moment of victory for me-before her composure snapped back into place. Her lips pulled into a faint smile, but her eyes, those beautiful, empty eyes, were still narrowed.
"Sure, I'd love that."
A SMIRK touched my own lips. Good. Play along. You have no choice.
Later, in the luxury department store, I led her on a ruthless tour, pointing out one expensive garment after another.
"I'd like that one..."
"...That one..."
"...The one hanging there..."
I didn't care about the clothes, or the money. I cared about the forced smile on Ajin's face as the cashier rang up thousands of dollars. The Chairman's money was now our money, and I intended to bleed her dry, one thousand-dollar dress at a time, until she realized that her victory was nothing more than a new kind of gilded cage-one with me holding the key.
The department store was a battlefield of velvet and crystal. I dragged her from rack to rack, pointing at the most expensive items. I didn't truly want the ugly pink dress on the mannequin, but I took it anyway. I took the dresses hanging there, and the shirt, and the shoes. I had to consume her resources, make her feel the weight of my presence.
"...and also the dress I'm wearing," I demanded, turning in front of the mirror, the yellow cotton dress a deliberate contrast to her sleek black outfit. "Is that okay, Mother?"
She stood there, pulling out the credit card that was now mine too. "Ha...! We'll take everything she picked out... Yes, Ma'am."
When she dismissed the clerk, my blood went cold. This was it. She wanted me alone. I knew she was dangerous, a snake hidden in the flowers.
She took two slow STEPs toward me. "I hope you like your bribe."
I held my chin high, staring into her eyes. I had to show no fear.
"Never have I ever... met such a nasty little girl like you," she hissed. "Are you happy you're getting what you wanted?"
I could have lied, but the terror was too overwhelming. I had pushed her too far. What if she was planning to dispose of me, the real daughter, now that the Chairman was gone?
"Yes. I didn't think you'd really buy me everything I wanted," I whispered, forcing the truth past my suddenly dry throat. "I thought you were going to drive us far away and leave me there."
It was the raw, core fear that drove all my spoiled behavior: abandonment. I was the true heir, but I was also just a girl, and now I was dependent on the venomous woman who sat in my mother's chair. I looked at the mountain of bags. They were not a victory. They were just a down payment on my survival. And if she thought she could scare me into submission, she was wrong. I had been taught by the best-my father, before he died-that money was power. And I would keep fighting for every last penny.
Her initial, saccharine tone was gone. The minute the sales clerk vanished, the stepmother's face twisted into something sharp and cold.
"Aww, were you scared that I was going to abandon you? Don't worry about that. I'd never do such a thing!" she said, her voice laced with mockery.
I tried to keep my face neutral, but the fear I'd shown was real. I was vulnerable, and she knew it. The next words she spoke were meant to crush any remaining hope I had of being treated like a daughter.
"You're worth a lot of money, sweetheart. I'd never touch a hair on your body." She leaned in, her eyes glinting with cold, cynical calculation. "Why would I ever damage a product that's going to net me a tidy sum?"
A product. That's what I was to her. The key to the Chairman's actual wealth. She was already planning how to monetize me.
"There are some scary adults out there who'd pay anything for little girls like you," she continued, pressing the point home, her long, dark fingernail pointing dangerously close to my face. "Your daddy says people will pay us a lot of money every time we put you in front of a camera for their sick pleasures."
I clenched my fists in the soft cotton of the expensive new dress, the terror a cold knot in my stomach. She was a monster, even worse than my real mother.
I remembered my father's empty promises. "Daddy told me we'd be living in a nice new house now... But I know he's been looking for a way to get rid of me. You're no different."
She pointed her finger at me, her face contorted with pure rage. "SO A SLY LITTLE GIRL LIKE YOU HAD BETTER LEARN... TO KEEP HER MOUTH SHUT."
But I didn't shut my mouth. I couldn't. This was the moment I had to use my ultimate weapon, the secret I'd guarded for months.
"But you know what adults never realize about kids? They always think kids don't know anything."
V. Junseo's Real Dad
I took a breath, letting my voice shake just enough to sound wounded, but strong enough to deliver the blow.
"So you are scared of what might come out of my mouth, huh? Are you that afraid of Junseo finding out?"
Her face went pale, the bravado evaporating instantly. I knew I had her. That boy, Junseo, the stepbrother, was her only true weakness.
"What did you just say to me...?!" she hissed.
I stepped closer, ready for the explosion. "I know you never want Junseo to find out about his real dad." I let the words hang there, heavy with implication. "That's why you sent Mr. Kang away."
I remembered the gentle family driver, Mr. Kang, and how abruptly he had vanished just weeks after she moved in. She had eliminated him to protect her lie.
"If you were so worried about keeping your secret... you should've gotten rid of that photo album!" I taunted, recalling the small, worn album hidden in her drawer-photos of the driver, the true father.
Her jaw dropped. She truly thought I was stupid. But my terrible childhood had taught me to be observant. "You see, my mom would lie to me all the time. She'd get drunk, beat me, and apologize... and I can tell and I can tell if an adult is lying to me, just by their voice. But I have to read the adults around me if I don't want to get beaten up..."
The look of fear on her face was a terrifying reward. She had gone from predator to prey in a single conversation.
"You told Junseo a big lie. Oh, poor Junseo. He doesn't even know who his real dad is..."
She recovered quickly, her expression hardening into a threat. "IF YOU EVER TELL JUNSEO-!"
I interrupted her, a surge of cold power washing over me. I had survived my own father's neglect and my mother's abuse, and I would survive her too.
"DON'T WORRY. I WON'T TELL HIM..." I was silent for a moment, letting the power of my secret settle between us. "Not yet."
I had the secret, and she had the money. We were locked together now, not as mother and daughter, but as two people holding mutually destructive weapons. I had secured my survival, for now.
The shopping bags lay scattered on the floor of my stepbrother's room, a colorful, expensive mess. I was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding up a terracotta-colored dress. He watched me with those large, quiet eyes of his.
"Isn't this dress super pretty?" I asked, trying to sound casual, trying to pull him into my world of beautiful, temporary distractions.
"Yeah, it is..." Junseo murmured, his gaze distant.
I picked up another dress. "What about this one? That one's pretty too..."
I stopped talking and just watched him. He looked lost, sad. Junseo was never loud, but today, he was smaller, more withdrawn than usual.
"What's wrong? Are you upset?" I asked, my voice softening just a fraction-I needed him to trust me.
He shook his head, looking down at his hands. "I'm not upset... I just wish I could go outside too..."
I knew that feeling. I remembered my own summer vacations, stuck inside while the other kids played. But my situation was different. His was a carefully constructed cage.
"I don't know why Mommy won't let me play outside... It's summer vacation, but I didn't even get to play outside once."
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was my opening. This was the moment to plant the seed of doubt, to turn him against the one person he thought loved him.
"Junseo," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder. My touch was meant to be comforting, but it felt like a trap. "Do you... really think your mom loves you?"
He blinked at me, the question clearly hitting him like a physical blow. "Huh?"
I pressed on, leaning closer. "She forces you to stay indoors. She never lets you go outside... and she doesn't even let you say hi to the neighbors. Why do you think that is?"
VII. The Truth I Offered
I let the question hang there, watching the confusion and hurt cloud his innocent face. He didn't have to answer. I gave him the cruel truth instead.
"It's all because she doesn't love you... She's embarrassed of you."
The sheer terror in his eyes when I said it almost made me flinch. Almost. I couldn't be gentle. I had to expose the rot so he would turn to me, the only person who offered him truth, however ugly.
I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. "She doesn't even care when you're feeling sick." I stroked his cheek, recalling a night where his mother had been too busy on the phone to check on him. "I'm the one that kept you company all night, remember?"
I looked directly into his eyes, my gaze boring into his fragile sense of security. "I care about you."
He looked at me with such raw hope, such desperate yearning for confirmation. "I-is that true, Ajin?"
I nodded slowly. Yes, it's true, Junseo. I care about you because you are my protection, my weapon, and my key to this fortune. And unlike your mother, I am honest about the price.
"But don't worry, Junseo..." I whispered, pulling him into a hug, the silk of my new dress rustling against his worn t-shirt. I held the boy who was the son of the driver, the symbol of the stepmother's biggest lie, and the single most valuable card in my hand. I would break his devotion to her, and then I would use his broken heart to secure my future. I was the viper's daughter, and this was how I survived.
Step mom's pov:
I was downstairs in the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of iced tea, still simmering from the way that nasty little girl, Ajin, had cornered me in the dressing room. She thought her knowledge of Junseo's real father was a checkmate. It was a problem, certainly, but nothing I couldn't manage. I had faced down the Chairman's lawyers and his greedy family; I wouldn't be defeated by a spoiled child.
I took a long, cold sip, focusing on my next move-a stern word with her school about her increasing delinquency. I needed to regain control.
Then I heard it. A small, choked sob, followed by a quiet, heartbreaking cry. It was Junseo.
I slammed my glass onto the counter and ran toward the boy's room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face wet with tears, whispering to Ajin.
"I-is that true, Ajin...? M-Mommy... doesn't love me...?"
The sound of those words, the devastation in his voice, hit me like a physical blow. The tea glass I'd been holding felt like a rock in my chest. She did it. That little viper had poisoned my son.
Ajin was stroking his cheek, her voice a low, insidious hiss. "Yeah... that's why she never even gets upset with you. I bet she's thinking of ways to get rid of us."
I watched them, paralyzed. The way she comforted him, the way he leaned into her, was a grotesque inversion of motherhood. She was cementing her lie, making herself his only protector against the "mother" who didn't care.
She is not just blackmailing me for money. She's trying to steal my son.
A primal scream tore through me. My perfectly constructed life, my entire carefully plotted future, was cracking right down the middle because of this girl.
IX. The Outburst
Rage, pure and blinding, flooded my senses. I didn't think about the inheritance or the neighbors or the image I had to uphold. All I saw was my son, my only precious link to the fortune, being corrupted by the Chairman's legitimate, hateful daughter.
"GET AWAY FROM MY SON, YOU FREAK!!!" I screamed, rushing into the room.
My hand found Ajin's hair, twisting around the simple clip, and I dragged her across the expensive rug. "I BET THAT LITTLE BITCH ALREADY TOLD HIM EVERYTHING...!!"
I heard Junseo's cry, high and panicked. "MOMMY, STOP!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO AJIN?!!"
He threw himself at me, trying to pull me away. His small hands were useless against my fury, but his intervention only fueled it. He was defending her.
I shoved him back, roaring. "STAY PUT, JUNSEO!! I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU GET IN MY WAY!"
I heard the THUD as Junseo backed up and hit the wall, then the frantic sound of his fists beating on the locked door. "MOMMY!!! PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!!"
I ignored his pleas, focusing my terror and anger on Ajin. I dragged her, still gripping her hair, toward the stairs. She was struggling, screaming "MOMMY!!" in a desperate parody of her stepbrother's cries. But I was deaf to both of them.
Then came the final, sickening sound-a CRASH! The little yellow dress blurred as I let go, sending her tumbling down the grand staircase.
I stood at the top, breathing hard, looking down at the crumpled heap of my stepdaughter. She was quiet now. I had won this physical battle, but the victory tasted like ash. I knew the damage was done. The truth was out, and my son had seen the violence I was capable of.
I felt a cold horror creeping back into my heart, replacing the rage. This wasn't the end. This was the catastrophic, public beginning of the war for the family fortune, and now, my own son was a casualty.
The moment I saw her face, contorted with pure, animal rage, I knew I had pushed too far. She was no longer the calculated viper; she was just a violent woman who knew her greatest deception-the true parentage of Junseo-was exposed.
I was clutching Junseo for dear life, wrapping my arms around him in a desperate embrace, a genuine act of protection born from a lifetime of knowing what blows felt like. Then she was on me.
A blinding pain exploded in my scalp as her hand seized my hair. She dragged me off the bed, across the floor. I screamed, but the sound was choked by the fear in my throat. I heard Junseo yelling "MOMMY, STOP!!" but her voice, raw and demonic, cut through his cries. "GET AWAY FROM MY SON, YOU FREAK!!!"
Freak. That's what I was to her. A wrench thrown into her expensive machinery.
The world turned into a chaotic blur of dark skirt and flailing arms. She shoved Junseo away with such force I heard the thud as he hit the wall. He was screaming, begging her to stop, but that only made her madder. She hauled me toward the staircase, my bare feet slipping on the polished wood floor.
I knew what was coming. I'd seen the way my own mother's eyes would go dead right before the beatings started.
I heard the last, desperate crackle of her voice-the Stepmother was screaming something, but I was focused on the dizzying drop of the stairs. I shut my eyes tight, bracing for the impact.
She let go.
I didn't fall; I was flung. The yellow cotton of my new, expensive dress twisted around me as I tumbled through the air. A sequence of sickening thumps and cracks vibrated up my spine.
Then, silence.
I lay at the foot of the staircase, a small, painful heap. The air had been knocked from my lungs. I blinked, staring up at the two pairs of legs standing above me-hers in expensive heels, and Junseo's trembling in short pants.
MOMMY!! The cry was torn from my throat, not because I was calling her, but because the pain made me revert to the most basic, desperate sound a child can make.

The moment she turned and rushed away, leaving me there-broken and exposed-the fear vanished, replaced by a cold, searing clarity. I hadn't lost. I had simply upgraded the war.
I pushed myself up, my wrist screaming in protest, and looked up at the top of the stairs. Junseo was there, his face a mask of shock and tears, his small fists still beating uselessly on the closed door. He had seen everything. He had seen the truth.
I had told him his mother didn't love him, but now I hadn't needed to. She had proven it herself, right in front of him, prioritizing her own escape over checking if the little girl she had just thrown down the stairs was even breathing.
A slow, triumphant smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. I didn't need to expose her secret about Mr. Kang and his real father anymore. She had just exposed herself as a monster.
I wiped a streak of blood from my lip with the back of my hand. The pain was irrelevant. This was better than any gold statue or inheritance. I had the witness. I had Junseo. And soon, I would have everything else.
I didn't move for a long moment, my body a painful tangle of limbs at the foot of the cold marble stairs. Above me, I could hear Junseo's desperate Bangs and cries behind the slammed door. "MOMMY!!! PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!!"
My stepmother, the viper, was screaming too, though her rage was less directed at me than at the door. I saw my hair clip-the gold butterfly-shimmering on the floor near her shoe.
I heard her voice, raw and hateful. "PIECE OF TRASH." She was talking about me. She had just thrown me down the stairs, yet she was terrified of what I had done to her son.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, wincing. My mind was clearer than it had ever been. She had called me trash, but she was the one locked behind a door, panicking.
She spun around, seeing me trying to sit up. She rushed back towards me, her face demonic. My last shred of self-preservation kicked in, and I didn't beg. I fought back with the only weapon I had left: her hypocrisy.
"YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T TOUCH A HAIR ON MY BODY-" I gasped, trying to keep my voice steady despite the searing pain in my back.
"SHUT UP!!" she roared, grabbing my arm, the fingernails digging into my skin. "WHAT DID YOU SAY TO JUNSEO TO MAKE HIM CRY, HUH?!! YOU B*TCH!!"
I looked her dead in the eye, forcing a slow, confident smile. My body might be battered, but my spirit was unbreakable. "Well, you brought me here to beat me, right? Go ahead. I know you're really angry."
She drew her hand back, her face twisting in frustration.
"Oh, I guess you can't beat me since I won't sell for as much... I thought real long and hard about... how I'm going to survive in this house..."
X. The Expensive Weapon
Her eyes darted to a small, valuable antique vase sitting on a nearby chest. She snatched it up, her expression wild.
"Okay, then..." she muttered, the vase held high, ready to smash. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING-? HEY, PUT THAT DOWN! THAT'S EXPENSIVE!!" she yelled, probably at herself, the madness of her greed warring with her violence. She knew that damaging valuable property was another line she couldn't cross. The physical threat subsided, replaced by a suffocating, defeated silence.
I watched her put the vase down, the entire drama playing out exactly as I had predicted. Every adult in my life, from my parents to her, operated on the same simple principle: money and image were more important than I was.
I finally pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the throbbing pain. I looked past her, toward the locked door behind which Junseo was now sobbing quietly.
I had come to a conclusion: I'll be okay, as long as Junseo is on my side.
He was the key. Not the inheritance itself, but the vulnerable, frightened boy who had just watched his mother become a monster and me, the piece of trash, become his fellow victim. He was her Achilles' heel, the one valuable "product" I could damage beyond repair just by speaking the truth. And now, he was terrified of her and grateful to me.
I touched the cuts and bruises on my face. These injuries were expensive. They were leverage. And thanks to my stepmother's tantrum, I no longer had to hide my fight. I had the witness, the wounds, and the secret. I had everything I needed.