"Min-ho, if you tell me you're working late on our anniversary again, I will personally come to the Prosecution Office and drag you out by your expensive silk tie."
I'm gripping my steering wheel, my phone balanced on the dashboard. I try to keep my voice playful, but there's a tremor of anxiety I can't quite shake.
Min-ho's voice crackles through the Bluetooth, sounding breathless, distracted. "Hana, I told you. This case... the Park Group doesn't sleep just because it's March 30th. I'm at the pier. There's a witness who's finally ready to hand over the ledger."
"The Incheon pier? At 9:00 PM?" I swerve around a slow-moving truck, my heart hammered against my ribs. "That sounds like a trap, Min-ho. It smells like a trap. Please, just wait for the backup team. You're a prosecutor, not a field agent."
"I don't have time for the team, Hana! If I don't get the Red File tonight, it disappears forever. I have to go. I'll be home by eleven. I promise. I'll even eat that burnt spicy stew you love to make."
"It's not burnt, it's caramelized!" I shout, but the line has already gone dead.
"Damn it, Kang Min-ho," I hiss, slamming my foot on the accelerator.
He thinks I'm at home in a silk dress, waiting with a bottle of wine. He thinks I'm just the girl who handles the grocery shopping and worries about his long hours. He's forgotten—or maybe he just likes to pretend—that before I was Mrs. Kang, I was the highest-rated protection officer in the NIS.
I reach into the glove compartment and pull out a sleek, matte-black Glock. I check the magazine. Full. I slide it into the concealed holster beneath my trench coat. The anniversary gift—a limited-edition watch engraved with 'Always Your Shield'—sits on the passenger seat, mocking me.
The rain starts as I pull into the industrial zone near the pier. It's not a romantic drizzle; it's a heavy, violent downpour that turns the world into shades of grey and charcoal. I kill my headlights a block away and roll to a stop.
I see his black sedan parked near a rusted shipping container. Min-ho is standing near the edge of the water, clutching a leather briefcase to his chest. He looks so small against the backdrop of the churning sea.
Across from him, a man in a hooded parka is talking fast, gesturing wildly.
"Something's wrong," I whisper to myself, stepping out into the rain. I move like a shadow, staying low behind the stacks of crates. My heels are off—I'm in my backup flats now. Quiet. Lethal.
"Where is the rest of it?" I hear Min-ho's voice. It's hard, authoritative. "This is just the index. I was promised the full ledger of the Park family's offshore accounts."
"The ledger is coming, Prosecutor Kang," the man in the parka says, his voice dropping into a sinister chill. "But you won't be the one reading it."
My blood turns to ice.
Before I can scream his name, the shadows around the containers move. Three men, dressed in tactical black, emerge with silenced submachine guns.
"Min-ho! Down!" I roar.
The first shot pings off the metal crate inches from Min-ho's head. He freezes—lawyers aren't trained for crossfire. I don't hesitate. I vault over a wooden pallet, my Glock clearing leather before I even land.
Pop. Pop.
The man in the parka drops. The two tacticals pivot toward me, surprised by the sudden interference.
"Who the hell is this?" one shouts.
"Your worst mistake," I snarl.
I dive into a forward roll as a spray of bullets chews up the asphalt behind me. I come up swinging. I don't aim for the vest; I aim for the gaps. I catch the second guy in the throat. He goes down gurgling.
"Hana?" Min-ho's voice is high, stripped of all its prosecutor's dignity. "Hana, what are you doing here?"
"Saving your life! Get behind the sedan, now!"
I'm a whirlwind. This is the 'Bodyguard Mode' I tried to bury for three years. I kick the gun out of the third man's hand and drive my elbow into his temple. He hits the ground hard.
But I'm outnumbered. I can see the headlights of two more SUVs screaming toward the pier.
"The briefcase! Give them the damn briefcase, Min-ho!" I yell, reloading.
"No! This is the only evidence!" he screams back, clutching the Red File like it's his own child.
A masked man—taller, broader than the others—leaps from the lead SUV before it even stops. He isn't interested in a gunfight. He wants that file. He sprints toward Min-ho with terrifying speed.
"Stay away from him!" I lunge forward, but I'm too late.
A high-pitched whistle pierces the air.
"Close your eyes!" I scream, but the warning is drowned out by a blinding white flash.
A flashbang.
The world turns into a white void. My ears are ringing with a sound like a thousand screaming sirens. I'm stumbling, my vision fractured into a million white dots. I can feel the rain hitting my face, but I can't tell which way is up.
"Min-ho!" I grope through the white light. "Min-ho!"
I hear the sound of a struggle. A grunt of pain. The heavy thud of a fist hitting flesh.
"I've got the file," a gravelly voice shouts through the ringing in my ears. "Finish him."
My vision starts to clear in jagged patches. I see the masked man pulling the briefcase away from a kneeling Min-ho. He raises a heavy, gloved fist to deliver a killing blow.
"No!"
I throw myself forward. My coordination is shot, but my instinct is perfect. I tackle the masked man just as a shot rings out from the SUV.
Searing heat.
The bullet grazes my shoulder, tearing through my coat and skin. I don't feel the pain yet, only the hot rush of adrenaline. I kick the masked man in the ribs, sending him sprawling, but the briefcase slides across the wet concrete, inches from the pier's edge.
I don't care about the file. I only care about the man on the ground.
Min-ho is trying to stand, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He looks at me, but he doesn't see me.
"Hana..." he mumbles.
"I've got you, I've got you," I sob, reaching for his hand. My fingers are inches from his. I can see the wedding band on his finger, glinting under the harsh pier lights.
Another mercenary lunges from the side, swinging a heavy iron pipe. I try to pivot, to shield Min-ho with my own body, but my injured shoulder gives way.
The pipe misses me. It hits Min-ho square in the side of the head.
The sound is sickening—a dull, wet thud that I know I will hear in my nightmares for the rest of my life.
Min-ho's body goes limp instantly. He falls backward, his head striking the concrete curb with a force that makes the world stop spinning.
"MIN-HO!"
I scream until my throat bleeds. I crawl toward him, my hand finally catching his. His skin is cold. The rain is washing the blood from his temple into a dark puddle on the ground.
The mercenaries are scrambling, picking up the briefcase, piling back into the SUVs. They think they've killed him. They think the job is done.
I pull his head into my lap, pressing my hand against the wound. "Stay with me. Min-ho, look at me. It's our anniversary. You promised to be home by eleven. You promised!"
His eyes are open, staring up at the dark, rainy sky, but the man I love isn't behind them anymore. He's just a shell, flickering like a dying candle.
As the sirens of the real police finally wail in the distance, I look down at my husband, my heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces.
If he survives this, he'll be a hero. He'll have the Red File back. But as I look into his vacant, empty gaze, a terrifying thought chills me deeper than the rain.
The man I saved... is he even in there anymore?