Chapter Text
The estate was a kingdom unto itself, a sprawling expanse of manicured lawns and ancient oaks that separated the main estate from the five subsidiary guest houses scattered like satellites. It was a place that demanded reverence, guarded by a silent army of security personnel who patrolled the perimeter with disciplined precision. To walk its grounds was to traverse a map of legacy and wealth, a place where silence was as heavy as the gold leaf adorning the ceilings.
Inside the main mansion, the morning light filtered through tall French windows, painting the large blue room in hues of sapphire and slate. The room was cavernous, larger than most city apartments, furnished with the classic, ornate touch of a French chateau, gilded frames, velvet drapes, and mahogany furniture that smelled of history.
Soobin stood before a human-length mirror, with a steady gaze. He was a picture of aristocratic poise, though his eyes held a quiet storm that few were permitted to see. A servant moved around him with silent efficiency, adjusting the diamond buttons on the cuffs of his dress shirt."Perfect, Soobin-ssi," the servant murmured, stepping back.
The younger male gave a slight nod and walked toward the walk-in closet. The center of the room was dominated by a glass display case, divided into sections, showcasing an array of luxury watches that could fund a small nation. The servant opened the case, his gloved hands hovering over the collection "Which one today, young master?"
Soobin paused, his eyes scanning the rows of platinum and gold. He adjusted his collar, his reflection catching the light. "I will go with the…"
"1956 Bulova President."
The voice came from the doorway, deep and resonant, carrying the weight of authority. Both Soobin and the servant turned. Standing there was the head of the house, the patriarch of the Choi family. "Give us some room," He instructed. His tone was not harsh, but it allowed for no debate.
The servant bowed deeply and exited, closing the heavy double doors with a soft click that echoed in the vast room.
Soobin offered a small, respectful smile as his father approached. The older man stepped into his personal space, his hands rising to adjust the knot of Soobin’s tie.
"Let me look at you," The older male said softly. He stepped back, his eyes sweeping over his son from head to toe. A satisfied nod followed. He gestured toward the bed, taking a step back and retrieving a small, velvet-lined box from the nightstand. He opened it, revealing a watch that looked modest compared to the modern pieces in the closet, yet it radiated a profound, magnetic energy.
"This was my grandfather’s watch," He said, lifting the timepiece from its cushion. He took Soobin’s left wrist, the gesture surprisingly gentle for a man of his steel reputation. "It was the first watch he bought after establishing our C€Ↄ brand in the fifties."
He fastened the clasp around Soobin’s wrist, the metal cool against the skin. The older man smiled, a rare expression of unguarded pride. "I hope it brings you the same luck it brought him," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "after you’re officially announced as the COO today” He patted Soobin’s shoulder twice.
Soobin looked down at the watch, the gold face catching the light. He traced the edge of the crystal with his thumb. "Wouldn’t Gyu-ah think it’s unfair though?" he asked, his voice quiet. "It’s our family’s heirloom."
The older male let out a small, genuine laugh. "Your younger brother wouldn’t even think about it. He knows you deserve to take it."
He stood up, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. "And stop acting as if he’s your son or that you care about his feelings more than me," he teased, a glint of mischief in his dark eyes. "I am the father here."
The Choi head turned toward the door, his hand resting on the brass handle. He paused, the atmosphere in the room shifting instantly from light to heavy. He looked back, his genuine smile dissolving into something more weighted, more somber. "Soobin-ah."
Soobin straightened, sensing the change. "Yes, appa?"
The man’s gaze was intense, piercing through the distance of the room. "You would never hate me, right?" he asked. The question hung in the air, fragile yet heavy. "No matter what?"
Soobin’s eyebrows crossed, a flicker of confusion and unease knitting his brow. "Did something happen?"
The man held his gaze for a beat too long, a silent conversation passing between them in the stillness. Then, he stretched his lips into a small smile again, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Nah!" he waved a hand dismissively. "Just your old man getting emotional now that you’re one step closer into taking his place."
He opened the door and stepped out, leaving Soobin alone in the cavernous blue room.
Soobin stood motionless for a moment, the silence rushing back in. He looked at the watch on his wrist. The second hand swept smoothly.
☾☾☾~☼☽☾☼~☽☽☽
The salt spray from the Han River hung heavy in the evening air, mingling with the scent of expensive gasoline and the metallic tang of a thousand camera shutters firing in unison. This was the inauguration of the C€Ↄ Sun&Moon Hotel, a structure that defied both logic and nature. Built entirely upon a sprawling artificial island, the hotel glittered like a cut diamond against the darkening horizon. Its glass facade reflected the setting sun, but even that celestial display was eclipsed by the sheer human chaos unfolding at its gates.
The bridge connecting the mainland to the island was choked with traffic. It wasn't just the sleek black sedans of the nation’s elite; the walkways were teeming with people. This was no ordinary hotel opening. It was a cultural explosion.
“What are these kids doing here?” a young reporter asked, his voice nearly drowned out by a rhythmic chant he didn’t recognize. He was struggling to keep his balance as he adjusted his camera angle, trying to catch a glimpse of a passing CEO.
His senior, a grizzled man who had covered every corporate scandal for twenty years, didn’t even look up from his viewfinder. “They’re here for the younger Choi heir,” he grunted, snapping a series of photos.
The younger man blinked, looking back at the sea of teenage girls and young adults holding glowing banners and professional-grade telephoto lenses. “Younger Choi?”
“Hmm.” The senior reporter nodded, his finger hovering over the shutter. “You know that young idol and actor, Choi Beomgyu? The one who won Best Supporting Actor last year at the Blue Awards? The kid with the face that sells out every magazine in Asia?”
The younger male paused, the realization dawning on him. “Oooh! I remember. I didn’t know he’s one of the Choi heirs. I thought he was just… a celebrity.”
“Heh…” A third reporter, leaning against a security barricade, let out a small, cynical laugh. “That kid is the face of their new hotel campaign. His fans make sure to throw all his events in his family's hotels to support the billionaire dynasty. They don't just see him as an idol; they see him as their prince. And today, the prince is coming home to his castle.”
A deafening roar suddenly erupted from the crowd, a wall of sound so piercing it felt physical.
“Beomgyu-ah!" "OPPAAAAAA!" "GYU-AAAAAAAH"
The screams acted as a signal. Two matte-black SUVs emerged from the bridge, flanked by a phalanx of security personnel on motorcycles. The crowd surged forward, pressing against the temporary barricades with a force that made the metal groaned.
As the lead vehicle came to a halt, the door opened. A hush fell for a fraction of a second—the collective intake of breath before a storm—and then the world exploded into white light as every flashbulb in the vicinity triggered at once.
Choi Beomgyu stepped out.
He looked every bit the part of the "Billionaire Prince." He was clad in a bespoke, all-black tuxedo that hugged his lean frame perfectly. His hair, styled into soft, dark waves, framed a face that looked almost ethereal under the harsh artificial lights. Usually known for his edgy idol fashion and multiple piercings, tonight his ears were bare, a concession to the corporate gravity of the event.
He didn't head straight for the shelter of the lobby. Instead, he turned toward the fans, a polite, practiced smile gracing his lips. He gave a deep, respectful bow.
“Thank you everyone for coming to show support for me and my family today,” he said, his voice amplified by the microphones of the reporters who had swarmed the inner perimeter. "The C€Ↄ Royal is a dream my father and brother worked hard on. I hope everyone can return home now. It’s already too cold, and the event should last for quite some time. There’s a huge chance I might spend the night here to try the royal suite. Please get back home, it’s safer for all of you.”
His voice was gentle, almost soothing, and for a moment, the frantic energy of the crowd softened. But the peace was short-lived.
“Beomgyu-ssi!” a reporter shouted, shoving a recording device toward his face. “There are floating rumors that there will be major changes with shareholders and positions on the board during tonight’s gala. Should we expect an announcement regarding your own position in the company?”
Beomgyu didn't miss a beat. He tilted his head slightly, the smile remaining perfectly in place. “I think you will have to wait and see. As for me, I was only told to look good today and try the caviar, I was told it’s very delicious.”
It was a classic Beomgyu move, using his charm to deflect a high-stakes business question with a joke. He bowed his head again, turning to retreat toward the hotel entrance where the heavy glass doors promised sanctuary.
But the crowd’s restraint snapped.
“No! I’ve been waiting for six hours here, don’t go!” A girl near the front, her face flushed with a mixture of exhaustion and desperation, lunged forward. She managed to duck under the arm of a distracted security guard, her hand shooting out to grab the sleeve of Beomgyu’s tuxedo. The force of her jerk pulled him backward, his heels catching on the uneven pavement of the temporary red carpet.
“I just want a photo!” she screamed. Without waiting for a response, she shoved her phone into his face, the flash blinding him at point-blank range.
The moment she broke the line, it was like a dam bursting. Other fans, driven by a competitive frenzy, pushed against the guards. The "Prince" was suddenly surrounded. The bodyguards hesitated; they were trained to handle threats, but these were teenage girls, the very people who fueled the Choi family's entertainment stocks. Using force would be a PR nightmare.
Beomgyu tried to maintain his composure, twisting his body to avoid the grasping hands. He was being pulled in three different directions at once. One fan grabbed his tie; another tried to latch onto his arm.
“Please, stay back!” Beomgyu’s voice lost its melodic quality, replaced by a thin edge of panic. He had always been physically delicate, a fact the tabloids often whispered about. He lacked the robust constitution of his older brother, and as the oxygen seemed to vanish in the crush of bodies, his face grew deathly pale.
“My turn!” a girl shouted, grabbing his right arm and pulling it down to her level to force a selfie.
“I came first!” another girl, larger and more aggressive, roared. She reached over the first girl and, in her attempt to pull Beomgyu toward her, her fingers tangled in his hair. She yanked.
Beomgyu’s head snapped back, a sharp gasp of pain escaping his lips. His knees buckled. He was falling toward the concrete, a designer-clad lamb about to be trampled by the very people who claimed to love him.
He never hit the ground…
A pair of strong, steady arms caught him mid-air, hauling him upward and back against a solid chest. The temperature of the air seemed to drop twenty degrees in an instant.
“I think this is more than enough,” a voice boomed. It wasn't loud, but it possessed a resonant, chilling authority that cut through the screams like a blade.
The crowd froze…
Choi Soobin, stood there, his arm wrapped firmly around his younger brother’s shoulders. Soobin was only three years older than Beomgyu, but the gap felt like a lifetime. Where Beomgyu was light and charm, Soobin was granite and shadow. His eyes, usually patient and calculating, were currently burning with a cold, terrifying fury.
The fans near the front recoiled. They knew who Soobin was. They knew the stories. While Beomgyu was the darling of the media, Soobin was the one who managed the family’s legal battles. There was a legendary story among the fandom about a student who had bullied Beomgyu in high school; Soobin hadn't raised a finger against the boy physically, but within a week, the bully’s father’s business had been liquidated and the boy himself had been blacklisted from every prestigious school in the country.
Soobin didn’t say another word. He simply leveled a glare at the girl who had pulled Beomgyu’s hair. She dropped her phone, her face turning white as she scurried back into the mass of people.
The older Choi turned his attention to Beomgyu, his expression softening only a fraction, though his jaw remained set. He looked Beomgyu over with clinical precision, checking for visible injuries.
“Can you walk?” Soobin whispered, his voice for Beomgyu’s ears only.
Beomgyu nodded shakily, leaning heavily into his brother’s side. “I’m fine, Hyung…”
Soobin’s grip tightened. He looked up at the head of security, who was now frantically trying to reform the line. “The next person who touches him is to be detained and their identity recorded for our legal team. No exceptions,” Soobin commanded.
He didn't wait for a response. He shielded Beomgyu with his own body, ushering him through the golden doors of the hotel.
The transition was jarring. One moment, they were in the center of a riot; the next, they were in the vaulted silence of the lobby. The air was cool, scented with white lilies and expensive wood. The only sound was the clicking of their dress shoes on the Italian marble.
Soobin didn't stop until they reached a private elevator. Once the doors hissed shut, he finally let go of Beomgyu’s shoulder, though he stayed close.
“You’re trembling,” Soobin noted, his voice tight with suppressed anger, not at Beomgyu, but at the situation.
Beomgyu let out a long, shaky breath and leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator. He reached up, gingerly touching the spot on his scalp where his hair had been pulled. “I’m okay. It’s just part of the job, right? The 'face' of the campaign has to handle the fans.”
“Not like that,” Soobin snapped. He reached out and straightened Beomgyu’s disheveled tie. “You aren't a product, Beomgyu. I don’t care how many hotels we open; if you’re being hurt, the campaign ends. Appa wouldn't have wanted you out there if he knew they’d turn feral.”
Beomgyu looked at his brother, seeing the genuine worry behind the stern facade. “You were scary out there, Hyung. I thought you were going to sue the entire front row.” He teased.
“I’m considering it,” Soobin replied, his face devoid of any humor.
The elevator chimed, opening into the Royal Suite. It was a masterpiece of modern luxury, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the dark river and the glittering city beyond. It felt like they were floating in the sky, far removed from the dirt and the noise of the streets.
Soobin walked to a sideboard and poured a glass of water, handing it to his brother. “Sit. Take some minutes to gather. You need to look composed before the shareholders see you.”
Beomgyu took the glass, his hands still a bit unsteady. He looked out at the lights of Seoul. “The reporter was right, wasn’t he? About the major changes?”
The older heir stood beside him, his reflection in the glass looking like a shadow of his brother. “Tonight isn't just a hotel opening, Beomgyu. It’s a transition. Appa is in fact making major changes.”
Beomgyu sighed, a small, tired sound. “The artificial island. It’s perfect, isn't it? We’re physically separated from the world. No one can get to us here.”
Soobin looked at the bridge below, where the crowds were still gathered, tiny and insignificant from this height. He remembered the feeling of the fans' hands on his brother, the grasping, the pulling, the entitlement.
“There will always be people who try to pull you down to their level,” Soobin said, his voice returning to that cold, mountain-air clarity. “It’s my job to make sure they never succeed.” He placed a hand on Beomgyu’s head, smoothing the hair that had been ruffled in the scuffle. It was the only moment of warmth he allowed himself.
“Fix your suit,” Soobin said, stepping back into his role as the heir to an empire. “We have a kingdom to run.” He winked before making his exit.
☾☾☾~☼☽☾☼~☽☽☽
The glass roof of the Grand Celestial Hall captured the twilight, turning the sky into a canvas of bruised purples and burning oranges. Below, the city sprawled like a carpet of diamonds, but it was the interior that held the world’s gaze. Eight hundred guests, the elite of the nation’s commerce and a formidable contingent of foreign investors, mingled under the watchful eyes of livestock tickers and looping promotional reels of the Sun&Moon Hotel.
The atmosphere was a symphony of opulence. Crystal chandeliers refracted the light from the screens, casting rainbows over tuxedos and couture gowns. The air hummed with the low thrum of networking, punctuated by the soaring notes of a classic soprano singing an aria that seemed to vibrate through the marble floors.
In the center of the room stood Yoona, the matriarch of the Choi family and the mastermind behind the ceremony’s design. She was a vision of timeless elegance, her black silk dress clinging to her silhouette, the golden floral motifs catching the light with every subtle movement. Her hair was swept into an intricate up-bun, secured by a jewelry set that had once belonged to a forgotten queen.
"Brilliant," a voice cut through the ambient noise.
Sonju, the current sales manager of C€Ↄ Hotels, approached her. He was a man of sharp angles and tailored ambition, his face handsome and unlined despite the weight of his title. He moved with the predatory grace of a panther.
"I am glad it meets the standards," Yoona replied, her voice smooth as the champagne in her flute.
Sonju took her hand, bowing low to press a kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was old-world, yet his eyes were modern and calculating. "My brother is very lucky to have a wife like you," he said, tapping her hand gently.
The female smiled, a warm, practiced expression. "Thank you, Sonju. Your brother is very proud of you too. He said your sales have increased rapidly, aiding in the fastening of this hotel’s opening." They clinked glasses, the crystal ringing true.
"I hope you’re not flirting with my dear Yoona," A teasing voice interjected. The Choi’s head stepped forward, flanked Soobin.
"I wish I could," Sonju laughed, stepping aside to make room for his older brother. "She’s quite the catch after all."
"Didn't he say so about his third ex-wife?" The older male teased, and the family laughed, a sound that drew envious glances from the surrounding guests.
Yoona turned subtly to her son, her smile remaining perfectly solid even as her voice dropped to a frequency only he could hear. "What happened with your younger brother? The head bodyguard told me your entrance wasn’t the smoothest?"
"Nothing you need to worry about, Eomma," Soobin assured her, mimicking her polite nod to a passing investor. "He will join us in a minute or two."
"Chairman Choi, we’re ready for you," a female secretary announced.
The man moved toward the stalled podium at the front of the hall. Yoona and Soobin flanked the stage, a silent wall of support. Seconds later, Beomgyu’s joined them. He was more composed, but he offered a reassuring nod to his older brother and mother.
Soobin turned, eyes asking the silent question: Are you okay now?
The youngest Choi nodded, smoothing his lapels.
The hall’s ambient noise died as the chairman tapped the microphone. The screens behind him shifted from stock tickers to his magnified face.
"First and foremost," his voice boomed, rich and authoritative, "I would like to thank everyone of you who decided to bless us with their presence and helped make this perfect memory better."
The crowd was silent, hanging on every word.
"Within the past seventy years, you have all put your trust in us, whether as shareholders or as our loyal guests. With this new stop, we hope we can earn more of your trust. For this opening of our Sun&Moon Hotel, we have decided to issue an extra five percent of our stocks."
A ripple of excitement went through the room. Applause broke out, enthusiastic and genuine.
"For almost fifty years now, we have only allowed limited sales for our stock," Beomgyu continued, a playful glint in his eye. "But under everyone’s pressure, we decided we should be generous enough." He raised his glass, and the crowd laughed, the tension of the market breaking for a moment.
Beside the stage, Beomgyu turned to Soobin, his brow furrowing. "Why is he doing that?" he whispered. "That’s a bad option."
Soobin kept his eyes forward, his jaw set. "The hotel costed a fortune, Gyu-ah. We sell temporary shares at the beginning until we can restore them back. Everyone uses this as an investment; no one stays in the same stock market, especially this one, for more than three years. We will buy them back." He patted his brother’s back. "I promise."
On stage, the Choi’s head shifted gears. "And lastly, I would like to announce that as days go by, new blood with new vision need to start being acknowledged. I mean, AI is everywhere, and most of us think this is an English teaching app." The joke landed perfectly, drawing another wave of laughter. "That’s why it’s about time I announce that more than six changes were made after the annual conference with the shareholders and board meeting."
The screen behind him flashed, displaying six photos: four men, one woman, and finally, Soobin.
"Our PR manager, three of our hotels’ directors, and financial advisor," The man listed. "And last but not least, a new board member." He turned to Soobin. "My oldest son, who will be replacing my dear friend Kang Leon after his departure for health reasons."
The applause was thunderous. Soobin walked up the stage, his posture impeccable, bowing alongside the other five appointees. He felt the weight of the room, the eyes of the nation’s wealthiest upon him.
In the crowd, the whispers began immediately, masked by the clapping.
"Who in his right mind would leave the board of such a company?" a woman in a diamond choker mocked quietly to her companion.
"He didn't depart," another woman whispered back, leaning in. "There were rumors he was fired after embezzlement. Some people even said the chairman punched him in the face. He was blackmailed out."
"I heard in the social club," a third voice joined, "That he submitted fake documents while constructing this particular hotel. He stole more than three billion won, and could have gone ten times that if it wasn't discovered."
Just as the applause began to fade, the heavy double doors of the hall groaned open.
A draft of cold night air swept through the warm room. The light from the hallway silhouetted a figure standing in the doorway. As the door swung fully open, the identity of the man became clear.
Kang Leon…
A collective gasp sucked the air from the room. The murmurs died instantly, replaced by a stunned, heavy silence.
The man stood framed in the massive gilded doorway, a figure both familiar and utterly out of place. He wasn’t the man of the hushed rumors, broken and disgraced. Instead, a defiant glint resided in his eyes, a stark contrast to the slightly disheveled suit he wore. His gaze swept over the stunned crowd, lingering for a fraction of a second on the stage where Chairman Choi, frozen mid-gesture, stared back with an expression slowly morphing from surprise to a cold, dangerous fury.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the guests. The whispers from moments before, about embezzlement and a punched face, now felt like thunderclaps. Yoona, ever the picture of composure, felt the perfect curve of her smile falter, a tiny tremor running through her hand as she instinctively reached for her husband’s arm. Soobin, standing beside his father, stiffened, his newly acquired confidence as a board member momentarily eclipsed by a wave of apprehension. Beomgyu, however, seemed to deflate, a flicker of something akin to recognition, or perhaps dread, flashing in his eyes before he quickly masked it.
Chairman Choi was the first to regain his footing, though the tremor in his voice was undeniable. "Kang Leon, we’re glad you could join us today."
Leon merely smiled, a slow, humorless baring of teeth. He began to walk, each step a deliberate, resounding challenge across the polished marble floor. The crowd parted around him like an uneasy sea, heads swiveling, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and morbid fascination. He didn’t rush, but strode with a measured pace, his eyes fixed on the stage.
"I wouldn’t miss this day for the world, Chairman," Leon’s voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, almost conversational, yet it carried an unnerving edge that cut through the silence. "Congratulations on the opening, it’s nice to see my hard work being appreciated." His eyes pierced through every corner of the lavish glassy hall.
Soobin bit his lips subtly before walking gracefully to the microphone and gave his father an assuring nod before taking it. "Well, now that the family is complete, I think it’s about time we stop boring you with long business speeches. Please enjoy your time, the night is still long."
He added and everyone cheered before carrying back their conversation, though the tension in the room had thickened into a palpable fog.
Leon marched boldly towards the Choi inner circle, to Yoona and Beomgyu. "Your touch is perfect as always, Yoona," Leon said, his voice dripping with mock gallantry. "It makes up for whatever happened to your son earlier." He eyed the idol, who gave a sharp, sarcastic laugh that didn't reach his eyes.
"But it doesn’t make up for your barging in uninvited," Hwan growled, stepping into Leon’s space. He kept a smile plastered on his face for the benefit of the photographers, but his eyes were slits of fire.
"I don’t need an invitation to come to my own house, Hwan," Leon dared, his voice dropping to a low hiss. "I left the company, but I think it was very rude not to invite me to the wake."
"When you steal from your own house, you are no longer welcome in it," Soobin interrupted, flanking his father’s side. He tried to sound authoritative, but Leon didn't even flinch.
The Kang’s head turned to Soobin, eyeing him like a specimen under a microscope. He reached out and took the young man’s chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. Soobin recoiled slightly, but Leon’s grip was firm.
"I was working in this company when you were still in diapers, my little board member," Leon whispered, loud enough for only the family to hear. "You think you have any right to tell me what to do?" He released the chin with a flick of his wrist, then turned back to Hwan. "One mistake doesn’t define a person who has done so many great things, isn’t that right, my dear friend?"
Leon stepped closer to Hwan, their chests nearly touching. "Just because some secrets are still secrets doesn't mean they don't exist."
The atmosphere among the Chois shifted instantly. It wasn't an argument anymore; it was a hostage situation. A cryptic message had been delivered, and by the way Hwan’s face went ashen, it had hit the mark.
"I think you should leave, Leon-ssi," Sonju interrupted, stepping between the men. "No need to make any scenes. Remember your departure deal. We’re already being very generous by letting you stay this long."
Leon bit his lip, a predatory grin forming. He forced a bow—stiff, mocking, and low. "Of course. It was nice to meet you all, even for such a short time. But I think we will meet soon enough anyway."
With a final, lingering look at the "Sun&Moon" logo emblazoned on the wall, Leon turned and walked out. The double doors closed with a heavy thud that seemed to vibrate in Hwan’s marrow.
"What was that about?" Yoona demanded, her voice a sharp whisper, her composure finally shattering.
Hwan didn't answer. He released a deep, frustrated breath that sounded like a groan. "I need to go to the restroom." He turned to his two sons, his eyes unfocused. "Mingle. I don’t need anyone to feel my absence after such an unpleasant incident. Keep the vultures fed." He ordered, turning on his heel and walking toward the private restrooms at the back of the hall, followed closely by his personal bodyguard.
The metallic tang of fear coated Hwan’s tongue. He stared at his reflection, a stranger with wide, panicked eyes staring back from the polished mirror. The opulent restroom, with its gold fixtures and imported marble, suddenly felt like a gilded cage. Every breath was a struggle, ragged and shallow, punctuated by the frantic drumming of his heart against his ribs. Sweat trickled down his temples, cold rivulets on his heated skin.
“Chairman?” His personal bodyguard knocked, he stood a respectful distance behind the bathroom’s door.
Hwan gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. “I’m fine,” he rasped, but the lie felt brittle, ready to shatter. He splashed cold water on his face, gasping at the shock. It did little to quell the inferno of anxiety.
The lie felt brittle, a shard of glass ready to shatter in his throat. He leaned forward and splashed cold water onto his face. The shock hit him like a physical blow, but it did nothing to quench the inferno of anxiety roaring in his chest. He was the Chairman of C€Ↄ, one of the most powerful conglomerates in the country. He wasn't allowed to break. Yet, as he looked at the water swirling down the drain, he felt his life’s work following the same trajectory.
He wasted several minutes, dragging a linen towel over his face, trying to manufacture a mask of indifference. He reached for his silk necktie, his fingers fumbling with the Windsor knot. Midway through the tie, the muffled silence of the hallway evaporated.
Loud voices—shouts, really—blew past the door. The decorum of the gala was dissolving.
A frantic knock followed. “Chairman Choi, please, come out!”
It wasn't a check-in anymore; it was a plea. For the first time in ten years, Minho sounded genuinely panicked.
Hwan threw the door open. His facade was barely in place, a thin veneer of dignity over a collapsing structure. The hallway was a corridor of judgment. Staff, guests, and minor shareholders were all huddled around the various digital displays mounted on the walls. Every screen, from the stock tickers to the decorative art monitors, had switched to a single, high-definition live feed.
The scene on screen was chaos. Reporters and paparazzi were swarming the hotel’s main entrance, their flashes creating a staccato lightning storm. In the center of the frenzy stood a young man who looked like a ghost from Hwan’s twentieth year. He was lean, with sharp features and eyes that held the same terrifying clarity Hwan had once seen in a small apartment in the city.
"So, you're Choi Hwan's oldest son?" a reporter shouted, thrusting a microphone forward.
The young man was the eye of the storm. He didn't look like a conqueror; he looked like an accidental martyr. "Yes," he said, his voice trembling but audible. "My name is Choi Yeonjun."
The blood drained from Hwan’s face. The hallway seemed to tilt.
"I was told I should come today and announce myself to the media," Yeonjun continued, blinking against the blinding lights. "So, I am glad I am finally able to introduce myself publicly and meet my two half-brothers for the first time." He attempted a smile, but it was a pained, fragile thing that didn't reach his eyes.
"Where were you all these years? We have never heard of you!"
Yeonjun bit his lip. He looked around, suddenly realizing the gravity of the cage he had stepped into. Unlike any Choi in that building, he had no phalanx of bodyguards to shield him. He was being physically jammed by the press, his shoulders hunched as he tried to protect his personal space. It was painfully clear that the male had no experience with the vultures of the fourth estate. He looked less like a corporate threat and more like a lost child.
"I am sorry," Yeonjun swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I was told that there would be a press conference to answer all your questions. I... I should join the event now."
He turned, almost running for his life toward the hotel’s massive glass gates. But as he reached the threshold of what he thought was safety, the path was blocked. Two hulking security guards, their faces impassive, stood like stone sentinels.
"Umm, please open, I am invited," Yeonjun ordered, though it sounded more like a question.
The security man didn't move. He raised a stiff arm, a barrier of flesh and polyester. "I am sorry, I don't have your name on the list."
Yeonjun froze. Behind him, the sea of reporters surged forward, sensing blood in the water.
"LIAR!"
A sudden, sharp scream cut through the din. A soda can, half-full and sticky, flew through the air, striking Yeonjun squarely in the shoulder. It sprayed dark liquid over his cheap suit before clattering to the pavement. A group of girls fans of Beomgyu’s were livid.
"You're just trying to ruin the Chois' reputation!" one of them shouted, her face contorted with parasocial rage. "Scammer! Clout-chaser!"
The scene erupted. The reporters, seeing the assault, pressed even closer, their cameras inches from Yeonjun’s face as he was shoved and jostled. One reporter’s heavy camera lens caught him in the temple; he stumbled, his expression one of pure, unadulterated fear.
Hwan watched the screen, his mind a whirlwind of static. He saw the stock ticker for C€Ↄ scrolling at the bottom of the screen: the numbers were bleeding red, falling with a velocity that signaled a total lack of confidence. Years of branding, of the "Perfect Family" image, were evaporating in real-time.
"Go fetch him! NOW!" Hwan hissed at Min-ho, pointing toward the screen. "Get him inside before they kill him on live television!"
Min-ho nodded and sprinted toward the elevators, taking three of his subordinates with him.
For the first time since emerging from the restroom, Hwan dared to look around the ballroom. The elite of Seoul society were staring at him. Their gazes weren't filled with the usual sycophantic warmth; they were sharp, clinical, and judgmental. He was no longer the untouchable Chairman; he was a scandal.
Then, his gaze fell upon his family.
They stood in a small, tragic cluster near the stage. Soobin, his middle son, held the most stable look, but his face was an unnatural, deathly pale. He looked like a statue carved from ice, his jaw locked tight as he watched the destruction of his world.
Beside him, Beomgyu was shaking. The youngest, always sensitive and tuned into the emotions of the room, was clinging to his mother’s arm. His eyes were wide, darting from the screens to the faces of the whispering guests.
And then there was Yoona.
His wife, the woman who had helped him build this empire with her own family’s steel and influence, was no longer containing herself. Tears tracked through her makeup, silver lines of betrayal. She wasn't looking at the screens. She was looking at Hwan.
The look was one of pure, visceral horror. It was the look of a woman who realized the last twenty-five years had been a carefully constructed delusion.
Beomgyu whimpered, reaching for her hand, but Yoona’s reaction was instinctive and violent. She pulled away with such force that Beomgyu lost his balance, his shoes sliding on the polished floor as he fell and landed hard on his hip.
"Gyu-ah!" Soobin cried out, immediately kneeling to help his younger brother.
But Yoona didn't stop. She didn't even look back at the son she had just knocked aside. With a choked sob that sounded more like a scream, she turned and ran. She pushed through the crowd of dignitaries, her silk gown billowing behind her like a funeral shroud, heading for the service exit.
Hwan didn’t think. He didn’t consider the cameras, the stocks, or the illegitimate son currently being mauled by the press at his doorstep. He just found himself running. He ignored his sons, he ignored the whispers that rose like a tide as he moved, and he chased after the only person who had truly known the man he was, or the man he had pretended to be.
He burst through the service doors into a dimly lit concrete hallway. The air here was cool and smelled of industrial cleaner, a jarring contrast to the jasmine and expensive cologne of the ballroom.
"Yoona!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.
He didn't think about the plummeting stock prices. He didn't think about the illegitimate son whose face was currently plastered across every news portal in the country. He simply ran. He ran past his sons, past Soobin’s icy glare and Beomgyu’s muffled sobs and dived through the service doors.
The transition was jarring. From the warmth of jasmine and expensive cognac to the frigid, sterile scent of industrial cleaner and concrete. The service hallway was a narrow grey throat, echoing with the frantic clack-clack-clack of Yoona’s heels.
"Yoona!" he screamed, the sound bouncing off the cinderblock walls.
She didn't stop. She reached the parking garage, ignored the valet, and lunged for her black sedan. She was a woman possessed, driving by pure adrenaline and the need to outrun a lie. Hwan scrambled into his own vehicle, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped the fob.
As they tore out of the hotel driveway, the world turned into a nightmare of strobe lights.
The paparazzi were waiting. They were no longer men with cameras; they were a pack of predators who scented blood in the water. As Yoona’s car screeched onto the main road, a fleet of black sedans and humming motorcycles swarmed from the shadows.
It was a motorized funeral procession. Nine cars, packed with photographers leaning out of windows, followed in a tight, aggressive formation. Five scooters wove between them like gnats, the flashes of their cameras firing rhythmically against the rain-slicked asphalt.
Hwan pushed his engine to the limit, trailing behind his wife’s taillights, but he was trapped. He was trapped by the media, trapped by his choices, and trapped by the terrifying realization that for the first time in his life, he was chasing a woman who would rather drive off a cliff than let him catch her.
☾☾☾~☼☽☾☼~☽☽☽
The chandelier’s light, once elegant and warm, now felt like a spotlight in an interrogation room. Beomgyu didn't need to look up to know the whispers were starting. They were like a low hum at first, a background noise that grew in pitch and intensity until it was a swarm of hornets buzzing in his ears.
He could feel their eyes on him, on the Choi name stitched into the lapel of his suit. He could hear the fragments of their conversations, sharp and cruel, cutting through the polite music.
"...heard he was cheating on his wife for twenty years"...the whole family is going down, mark my words..." "...poor boys, they have no idea what's coming..."
Beomgyu’s breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it only made the voices louder, the images in his mind more vivid. He hated this. He had always hated being the center of attention, but this...this was a different kind of spotlight, one that didn't illuminate but burned. He felt a tremor start in his hands, a violent shiver that worked its way up his spine until his whole body was shaking. He brought his hands up, pressing his palms hard against his ears, trying to block out the sound, the judgment, the pity.
A sudden, solid warmth enveloped him. The buzzing in his ears was muffled by a deep, steady voice that cut through the noise like an anchor.
"I am here."
Beomgyu’s eyes snapped open to see his older brother, Soobin, standing in front of him, his broad shoulders creating a shield from the prying eyes. Soobin’s arms were wrapped around him in a tight, grounding hug, and for a moment, Beomgyu could breathe again.
The room had fractured. A significant portion of the guests, decent enough to recognize the violation of privacy, began a hasty, polite retreat towards the exit. They offered apologetic nods and murmured goodbyes, their footsteps a hurried retreat from the unfolding drama. The rest, however, remained, a morbidly curious audience. Their expressions were a sickening mix of sympathy and thinly veiled judgment.
But the worst were the ones with their phones out. Soobin’s sharp eyes caught the glint of a camera lens, the tell-tale black rectangle of a phone held at an angle meant to be discreet. They were taking photos, recording videos, capturing the Choi heirs at their most vulnerable. Vultures circling a fresh wound.
Soobin’s jaw tightened. He wasn't going to let them feast on his brother’s pain. He pulled back slightly, his hands coming up to frame Beomgyu’s face, forcing his younger brother to meet his gaze.
"Beomgyu, you need to gather yourself," Soobin said, his voice low but firm, a command wrapped in concern. "Let's get out of here."
He could see the panic in Beomgyu’s eyes, the way his chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps. The thought of simply lifting his brother and carrying him out crossed his mind, a tempting solution. But he knew how it would look. The headlines would write themselves: Younger Choi Heir Devastated by Father’s Scandal, Unable to Walk. It was a narrative of weakness they couldn't afford.
"Hyung..." Beomgyu’s voice was a broken whisper, a plea.
"I am here," Soobin repeated, the words a sacred vow. He began to draw slow, deliberate circles on Beomgyu’s back, a rhythmic motion meant to soothe. "I got you." He slid his hands down, securing a firm grip under Beomgyu’s arms. "On three," he instructed, his voice a low murmur. "One... two... three."
With a controlled exertion of strength, Soobin rose, pulling Beomgyu up with him. For a tense second, they stood frozen, a tableau of brotherly support. Soobin made sure Beomgyu’s legs were steady beneath him before he straightened to his full height. He turned his head slowly, his gaze sweeping over the remaining crowd, his eyes sharp and cold, judging them back with a look of pure disdain. He was daring them to say something, to do something.
His eyes landed on a familiar figure near the grand entrance... Yeonjun stood with his father’s personal bodyguard, his expression a mixture of deep concern and simmering anger. Their eyes met across the room, a silent conversation passing between them. There was mainly hate, judging and disdain from Soobin
"Hyung!"
Beomgyu startled, his body jerking. Soobin’s grip tightened instantly. He followed his brother’s wide, horrified gaze to the massive screen mounted on the far wall of the ballroom.
The elegant company logo that had been displayed moments before was gone, replaced by the stark, urgent graphics of a breaking news report. The words flashed in bold, red letters:
BREAKING NEWS: CHOI FAMILY CHAIRMAN AND HIS WIFE IN FATAL CAR ACCIDENT.
Below the headline, a grainy, devastating image appeared—a mangled wreck of the luxury cars, its frame twisted beyond recognition, illuminated by the flashing lights of emergency vehicles.
The whispers in the room died instantly, replaced by a collective, shocked gasp. The air was sucked out of the space, leaving only a vacuum of disbelief and horror.