The chandeliers in the Grand Balleroom in Schloss Rosenhof Grand Hotel & Spa glittered like frozen ice, casting rainbow reflections across the polished marble and tailored suits.
Waiters walks fast paced, balancing champagne, polite smiles used to dealing with such high ranked people. Everyone there was special after all -CEOs, politicians, actors and actresses, famous figures of all sort of fields gathered to socialize and make connections.
And then there was Min-jae Kim, twenty-four years old, standing near a potted orchid trying to make himself as invisible as possible, which wasn't much considering his hight and status. He was the son of Kim Dae-ho after all.
His father, Chairman Kim Dae-ho, had insisted he attend tonight's annual business gala. "It's time you start showing your face," he'd said over breakfast three days ago, not looking up from his food. "People need to know there's a successor."
Min-jae hadn't corrected him. He wasn't sure he wanted to be a successor, not to this empire of steel, shipping lanes, and silent boardroom coups. But filial duty ran deep in their family, deeper than ambition, deeper even than honesty.
Now, an hour into the party, his father still hadn't arrived.
Guests kept glancing toward the entrance, murmuring politely, masking impatience with practiced grace. Min-jae excused himself from a conversation about blockchain logistics, a topic he barely understood, and slipped through a side corridor, phone already in hand. No missed calls. No texts.
He found the private elevator reserved for the Kim family suite and rode it up two floors to the executive lounge. The hallway was quiet, carpeted in deep navy, lit by recessed lighting that hummed faintly. At the far end, near the fire exit, he heard a voice—low, urgent, unmistakably his father's.
Min-jae slowed his steps.
"...yes, I know she passed last night," Dae-ho was saying, one hand braced against the wall, back turned. A pause. Then, softer: "Well done."
Min-jae's breath hitched.
Ji-sook. A woman's name. And, well done? Well done about what?
His stomach twisted. In the silence that followed, his mind raced through possibilities, each darker than the last. His mother had died when he was five, officially, from complications after a routine surgery.
But rumors had always swirled in the shadows of their household: whispers of loneliness, of long nights spent waiting for a husband who never came home. And now this , his father, missing an important event to make connections all to get a call about a woman?
Mistress.
The word lodged in his throat like glass.
Without thinking, Min-jae pulled out his phone and diaaled Sebastian, his oldest friend and the only person he trusted implicitly, technically his "right-hand man," though Sebastian hated the title.
"Hey," Sebastian answered on the second ring, voice muffled by what sounded like street noise. "You ghosting the party or actually surviving it?"
"Dad's not here," Min-jae said, keeping his voice low. "I just overheard him on the phone. Talking about a woman named Ji-sook Park. Said she died last night."
A beat of silence. Then: "Okay… and you think…?"
"I need to know who she is," Min-jae cut in. "Run a search. Filter out relatives, distant cousins, charity contacts. Focus on women in Seoul, age fifty-five and up, with possible… personal ties to him. Mistress-level connections."
Sebastian exhaled sharply. "Min-jae...-"
"Just do it." If anyone could find anything it was him, his friend an IT and hecking genius, if there was any information somewhere, he was going to find it.
"Fine. Give me twenty minutes."
Min-jae ended the call and leaned against the cool wall, heart pounding. Below, the party continued, laughter, clinking glasses, the orchestrated harmony of power pretending to be joy. Up here, in this sterile hallway, everything felt fragile, like the world might crack open if he breathed too hard.
Twenty-two minutes later, his phone buzzed.
Sebastian:
Found her. Ji-sook Park. 68. Died at Seoul National University Hospital night. Worked there as a maternity nurse for forty-two years. Retired in 2015. Also… cross-referenced birth records. She was on shift the night your mom gave birth to you. Delivered you herself. Held you before your mom even could.
There's a note in the file: "Attended Kim family privately for weeks postpartum. Requested by Mrs. Kim."
Min-jae read the message three times.
Then he looked down the hall, where his father still stood, shoulders slumped, staring out a narrow window at the Seoul skyline glittering below.
Not a mistress.
A memory.
Well done.
What had he meant by that?
And his father, for the first time Min-jae could remember, looked small.
He pocketed his phone, straightened his cuffs, and walked forward.
"Appa," he said softly.
Dae-ho turned, his eyes sharp, no sadness in them, in fact opposite, it looked more like relief.
"What are you doing here?" He asked sharply, "What did you hear?"
"Hear? You're alone though, is there someone else here?" Min-Jae looked around, knowing better then to admit to the eavesdropping. "I came because everyone is waiting for you inside, people are getting impatient."
The man nodded and walked ahead without much words but Min-Jae's head was racing. There was more to this, way more, but for now he had to put on his best polite smile and join people. Once the event was over he'd do more research, more probing... If he knew one thing was that his father didn't concern himself with trifle things.
Whoever Park Ji-sook was she was important, and for his own sake Min-Jae had to rule out everything before his mind could rest.