The orphanage was noisy as usual—children’s laughter, shouts, and the occasional quarrel echoing through the old walls. But in the far corner of the playroom, a little girl no more than six sat silently, hugging her knees to her chest.

A few older kids stood around her, whispering cruelly.

"At least our parents died. Hers didn’t even want her."

"She’s not even an orphan. She’s just… unwanted."

The girl didn’t cry. She didn’t even flinch. Her face was empty, too empty for someone so small.

One of the sisters quickly intervened, scolding the children and pulling the girl away from the circle of mocking eyes. She led her outside, into the garden where the autumn sun draped its warmth across the flowerbeds. The nun knelt beside her, her voice softer but firm.

"You have to learn to manage here,"  she said gently. "This is your life now, no matter how much you dislike it."

The child only nodded, but there was no life in her expression. Just silence. Just a strange maturity, as if she had already learned what it meant to carry pain.

The scene shifts.

From the cracked stone walls of the orphanage to the gleaming glass of a mansion in Seoul.

Inside, the air was heavy. An 18-year-old girl stood in front of her father’s desk, head lowered. On the polished wood lay her report card, the red marks standing out like scars.

"Low marks in science?" Her father’s voice was sharp, like a blade. "Do you realize the shame this brings? You have every privilege—every luxury—and still you fail?"

The girl clenched her hands at her sides. She wanted to defend herself, to say she had tried, but the words never left her lips.

"No friends, no distractions," her father continued. "From tomorrow, extra tutoring. You will not embarrass this family again."

She nodded stiffly, her face calm. But when he turned away, her eyes flickered. Not with tears—she refused to cry in front of him—but with something colder. Quiet defiance.

The mansion, for all its gold and marble, felt more like a cage.

Two different worlds. Two different lives. But both carrying the same emptiness.

And somewhere, unseen by either of them, fate was already weaving its invisible thread—a thread that would one day pull them together.

Seoul’s underworld bowed to one name—Kim Hye-won.

At twenty-eight, she was a queen without a crown, ruling from the shadows with iron fists wrapped in silk gloves. To the world outside, she was a businesswoman with an empire stretching across clubs, hotels, and trading companies. But to those who knew her true face, she was untouchable, merciless, and feared more than death itself.

Her mornings never began with coffee or sunlight. They began with reports. Sitting in her office—a sleek room of black marble and glass—she read files thicker than her patience. Money laundering, smuggling routes, debts owed, traitors identified.

“This man stole from me?” she asked coolly, tapping the paper with a manicured nail.

The man in question was dragged into her office, trembling, his knees hitting the polished floor. He begged, he cried, but Hye-won’s expression never changed. Her eyes, sharp and cold, didn’t flinch once.

“You steal from me once, you lose your hands. You betray me twice, you lose your life.”

The room fell silent. Her men didn’t need further instruction. Seconds later, the man was dragged out, his screams echoing down the hall.

Hye-won leaned back in her leather chair, unbothered, lighting a cigarette. Smoke curled around her face, softening her sharp beauty but never the frost in her gaze.

Outside her office, people whispered her name like it was a curse. Her own men stood straighter in her presence, their eyes avoiding hers. She ruled not with love, not with loyalty, but with fear.

At night, she was no different. No champagne, no parties, no warm bodies to soften her sheets. She returned to her penthouse, empty and cold, the city glittering outside her window like a million lies. She poured herself a glass of whiskey, set it down untouched, and stared into the skyline as if it owed her something.

Love was a language she had never learned. Affection was a weakness she had buried long ago, locked in the same dark place as the little girl who once cried for attention but got scolded instead.

Kim Hye-won didn’t need love. She needed control.

And as long as Seoul trembled beneath her shadow, she had all the control she wanted.

But even the coldest empires… eventually crack.

———————

The next morning, Seoul was already awake when Kim Hye-won stepped out of her sleek black car. Her men followed closely, their presence enough to send ripples of fear through the quiet courtyard of an old orphanage.

The chairman of the orphanage had been careless, taking loans from the wrong people—people who ultimately answered to her. And now, Hye-won had come to collect.

She adjusted her coat as she walked through the gates, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. The sound alone was enough to make the children freeze mid-play, their laughter dying in their throats.

Then it happened.

A small figure came running around the corner, too fast, too distracted. The girl bumped into Hye-won, hard enough that she almost fell. But before her knees could hit the ground, Hye-won’s hand shot out with instinctive precision, catching her by the arm.

The world seemed to pause.

The girl in her arms looked up, wide-eyed. She was young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with a face too soft, too innocent for a place like this. Fear flickered in her expression, but there was also something untouched—something pure.

Hye-won, however, felt nothing. Her expression didn’t shift, not even for a second. She placed the girl back on her feet as if the contact had been nothing more than a formality.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” the girl stammered, bowing quickly, again and again. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t looking—I—”

“Enough,” Hye-won said flatly, her voice cold enough to freeze the air.

The girl straightened, still trembling, her gaze fixed on the ground. She looked ready to flee, to vanish before this terrifying stranger could decide her punishment. But before she could step away, Hye-won’s hand closed around her arm, stopping her.

Her grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. Unmovable.

“What’s your name?” Hye-won asked, her tone more command than curiosity.

The girl hesitated, then whispered softly, “Aera.”

“No surname?”

The girl shook her head, her eyes darting nervously to the side. “Just… Aera. I’m seventeen.”

Hye-won studied her for a long, heavy second. The girl looked fragile, like a glass ornament placed too close to the edge of a table. Innocent, pure, and entirely unfit for the cruel world that had already taken too much from her.

But to Hye-won, she was nothing more than a name. A face. A distraction she didn’t need or she didn't want.

She released Aera’s arm, stepping past her without another word, her attention fixed back on the trembling chairman waiting at the orphanage doors.

Yet, for reasons Hye-won herself couldn’t understand, the memory of that girl’s frightened eyes lingered in her mind long after she walked away.

The orphanage office echoed with cries and pleading. The chairman was on his knees, blood dripping from his lip as Hye-won’s boot connected with his side once more.

“You borrow my money,” Hye-won said coldly, her voice steady, as if she were simply reading out a grocery list. “Then you spend it, gamble it, waste it—on what? Your greed? Your stupidity?”

The staff stood frozen along the walls, their faces pale. The children huddled in corners, covering their ears, but none of them dared move.

Except one.

Aera’s small frame pushed through the crowd. Her steps were hesitant, trembling, but she forced herself forward until she stood between Hye-won and the bleeding chairman.

“That’s enough,” Aera said, her voice shaky but audible.

The room froze. No one breathed.

Hye-won’s men instantly moved, ready to drag the girl away, but Hye-won raised a single hand. A sharp signal. They stopped immediately.

She smirked, tilting her head as she studied the girl who dared to block her path.

“Well,” Hye-won drawled, “isn’t this… amusing?”

Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped closer. Aera instinctively stepped back. Another step forward from Hye-won. Another retreat from Aera. Until finally, the girl’s back pressed against the cold wall.

Hye-won leaned in, her presence suffocating, her eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. She pulled out her gun with deliberate slowness, pressing the barrel firmly against Aera’s stomach.

The girl’s breath hitched. Her eyes squeezed shut, her fists trembling at her sides.

“Tell me, little one,” Hye-won murmured, her voice low, cruel. “Why did you intervene? Do you have a death wish?”

Aera swallowed hard, her lips parting. “I… I hate violence.”

The answer was soft, fragile—but it was honest.

For a moment, silence. Then—

A sharp laugh. Cruel and cold.

Hye-won stepped back, throwing her head slightly as her laughter filled the room. It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t humor. It was mockery.

“You hate violence?” she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. “This world runs on violence. You’re breathing right now because of it. Everything you eat, wear, touch—it comes from someone else’s blood. And you think hating it makes you special?”

Her eyes darkened as she lowered the gun, though she didn’t put it away.

“Naïve little girl,” Hye-won sneered. “You think the world cares about your hatred? If I pulled this trigger right now, no one here would even scream. They’d watch. They’d bow. And you would disappear like you never existed.”

Aera’s fists tightened. Her body shook, but she didn’t move away.

“Then… then I’ll still stand here,” she whispered, barely audible. “Even if you hate me for it.”

The words hit something in Hye-won, though her expression didn’t show it. Her lips curled into another smirk.

“Brave,” she said mockingly. “Or stupid. Maybe both.”

She finally lowered the gun completely, slipping it back into her coat.

The staff and children still stared in horrified silence, but Hye-won didn’t look at them again. Her eyes lingered on Aera, studying her as though she were some strange puzzle.

Then she chuckled—cold, cruel, but edged with curiosity.

“I’ll remember you, Aera. Let’s see how long your innocence lasts in a world like mine.”

With that, she turned sharply, signaling her men to drag the chairman away. But her thoughts, much to her irritation, remained fixed on the trembling girl who dared to stand in her way.

As her men dragged the chairman away, Hye-won’s eyes flicked once more to the trembling girl who had dared to stand against her.

“Aera…” she said quietly, as if testing the name on her tongue. Then her voice turned sharp, commanding. “Bring her.”

The men hesitated for only a second. Then, with a curt nod, they obeyed.

Within the hour, the orphanage had fallen back into its usual silence, but Aera was gone.

---

Aera’s sobs echoed through the vast halls of Kim Hye-won’s mansion. The teenager sat curled on the edge of an expensive leather couch, her face buried in her hands as tears slipped through her fingers. Fear shook her small frame with every hiccuping breath.

Hye-won stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the city skyline as if the girl didn’t exist. Her expression was blank, utterly indifferent. She didn’t move, didn’t comfort, didn’t threaten. She simply waited.

Minutes turned into nearly an hour, and the sound of crying slowly dulled. Aera’s sobs became sniffles, her sniffles became soft whimpers, until finally—her head lolled to the side, and she fell asleep.

Hye-won turned her head slightly. The girl was slumped on the couch, her lashes wet, her face blotchy from crying. She looked less like a teenager and more like a child who had lost her way.

Hye-won sighed, irritation flickering in her chest. “Pathetic,” she muttered under her breath. “A teenager acting like a toddler. What am I supposed to do with this?”

And yet, instead of leaving her there, Hye-won bent down. With unexpected ease, she scooped Aera up in her arms, carrying her in a bridal style. The girl was light—far too light—and clung unconsciously to Hye-won’s coat even in her sleep.

The mafia queen’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She pushed open the door to her own bedroom, laid Aera down on the massive bed, and stepped back.

For hours, the mansion was quiet.

---

When Aera finally stirred, her eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar ceiling. She sat up quickly—only to feel the sharp tug on her wrist. Panic shot through her as she realized one of her hands was cuffed to the bedframe.

Her breath quickened. She pulled, twisted, struggled, but the cuff didn’t budge.

Across the room, lounging on a leather chair, was Kim Hye-won.

She hadn’t changed out of her suit. A cigarette burned lazily between her fingers as she watched the girl’s frantic attempts with cold amusement.

A slow smirk curved her lips.

“Awake at last,” Hye-won said smoothly, exhaling smoke. “And already struggling. Like a trapped little rabbit.”

Aera froze, her wide eyes darting to Hye-won.

“What do you want from me…?” her voice cracked, trembling.

Hye-won tilted her head, her smirk deepening as she flicked ash into a tray.

“From you? Nothing.” Her voice was low, cruel. “I just wanted to see how long that bold mouth of yours would survive in my world.”

Aera’s wrist tugged uselessly against the cuff, her breathing uneven. She finally stilled, hugging her knees with her free arm, her eyes flickering nervously to Hye-won.

“Why… why did you bring me here?” Aera whispered, her voice small, almost trembling.

Hye-won leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her cigarette glowed faintly as she took a slow drag, letting the silence stretch until it felt suffocating.

Finally, she smirked. “Because you amuse me.”

Aera blinked, startled. “Amuse… you?”

“Yes,” Hye-won said flatly, her gaze sharp. “You’re stupid enough to step in front of me, in front of my gun, for a man who would’ve sold you out in a heartbeat. Either that makes you fearless…” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “…or it makes you pathetic.”

“I-I just… I don’t like violence,” Aera stammered, her voice barely audible.

Hye-won’s laughter cut through the room like glass. It was low, cruel, echoing off the walls.

“Don’t like violence? Sweetheart, you live in a world built on it. Every day, people lie, cheat, steal, bleed. You think closing your eyes will make it disappear?”

Aera swallowed, clutching her knees tighter. “Maybe… maybe I can at least choose not to be like that.”

For the first time, Hye-won’s smirk faltered into a thin, dangerous smile. She stood, heels clicking as she crossed the room slowly. Each step made Aera shrink further back into the bed until there was nowhere left to go.

Hye-won stopped at the edge, looking down at her like a predator studying prey.

“You think you’re better than me?” Hye-won murmured. Her hand brushed the side of the bedpost, right near the cuff that bound Aera’s wrist. “You think your so-called ‘kindness’ will protect you when the world chews you up?”

Aera’s lips trembled, but she forced herself to look up. “At least… at least I won’t become a monster.”

The words hung in the air.

For a second, something flickered in Hye-won’s eyes—something unreadable—but it was gone as fast as it appeared. She leaned down slightly, her face inches from Aera’s, her smirk returning sharp as ever.

“Monster or not,” she whispered, her tone almost mocking, “you’re in my cage now. And the only rule here…” Her fingers brushed the chain of the cuff lightly. “…is mine.”

Aera’s breath hitched, her lashes wet as she tried to hold her tears back.

Hye-won chuckled lowly, straightening and turning away as if bored. “Let’s see how long before you break, little rabbit.”