EPISODE 1

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.

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