The city blurred past the tinted windows—glittering towers, sharp neon edges, and the fading indigo of twilight folding over the skyline. Inside the car, silence reigned, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the occasional soft click of the turn signal.
Sanghyun sat in the backseat, one leg crossed over the other, fingers lightly pressed against his temple. The warmth from his conversation with Areum still lingered—like a flicker of light in a cold, windowless room.
She fidgeted and flushed like a child unaccustomed to being told she mattered. It stirred something in him—a kind of mourning for the years he hadn't held her, hadn't fought for her, hadn't protected her the way a father should.
He stared ahead, face unreadable, but the weight in his chest pressed deeper with the thought.
Ever since Areum was injured six years ago, Sanghyun had been haunted by a long and vivid dream.
In it, she didn't survive.
Her sudden, tragic end didn't just devastate him emotionally—it forced him to question everything he had been raised to believe.
Was it pride that mattered? The honor of the Han name, the empire his father and forefathers had built over generations?
Or was it the well-being of his children?
If pride truly mattered, why had it felt so empty the moment his child died?
After that, he lost his grip on both his personal life and the Han Group.
Rumors flooded the media. Was it the mistress who had abused the child? Or the father himself?
Regardless of who bore the blame, the public agreed on one thing: the child had been neglected to the point of death. And that stain never washed clean.
The scandal—merciless in its exposure—was followed by outrage, plummeting stock prices, and mounting pressure from the board. But Sanghyun didn't fight back. He couldn't. Grief had hollowed him out.
His father, Han Gyeongseok, saw that Sanghyun lacked the will to reverse the reputational crisis—and with that, he lost all faith in his son's ability to protect the company or its people.
To Gyeongseok, the well-being of the Han Group mattered more than blood, more than emotion, more than anything resembling affection.
"A man who cannot control his emotions or his household has no business running an empire," he said coldly.
And just like that, Gyeongseok quietly reclaimed control of the company. Sanghyun let him. At the time, he believed he deserved it.
There was just one problem.
Han Gyeongseok was in his late seventies—not too old to command respect, but old enough that investors had begun whispering about succession. They needed someone who looked like the future, not a relic of the past.
So Gyeongseok began grooming Sanghyun's son, Han Haejin, as the next heir.
Sanghyun thought he had made peace with it.
Until the day his father arranged Soyun's engagement to Ryu Seungjae—without his input, without his consent.
The reason? Damage control, he said.
But in truth, the Han Group was never in danger of collapse. The numbers were stabilizing, investors were recovering, and the worst of the scandal had passed.
It wasn't about survival. It was about pride.
Han Gyeongseok didn't just want to steer the company through the storm—he wanted to polish its image until it gleamed like the days of old. To him, restoring the family's honor meant tying it to the most promising successor of another chaebol dynasty: Ryu Seungjae.
And he hadn't cared whether Soyun wanted it or not.
He had failed his child again.
That was when regret set in. Sharp. Bitter.
He had not only lost his authority. He had forfeited his voice as a father. In his grief, he had allowed someone else to dictate the futures of his children.
Every time he tried to scream in his dreams for it all to stop, he startled awake in a cold sweat.
But then reality returned—and with it, the truth.
Areum is alive.
Things had not played out the way they did in his dream.
Six years ago, though guilt and grief had struck him hard, they hadn't destroyed him. They left him standing—with enough clarity, enough hope, to fight.
This time, Sanghyun faced the scandal head-on. He claimed Areum publicly. Took responsibility for failing to protect her. Reshaped the narrative. Calmed investors. Silenced rumors before they could rot the foundation of everything he'd built.
He didn't step aside. And because he didn't, his father never had to step in—only offered a stern warning.
The company remained in his hands. Soyun remained untouched by political arrangements. And Seungjae never entered the picture.
Sanghyun jolted out of his thoughts as the car rolled to a halt.
The Han family mansion stood like a fortress carved from ambition—sleek, modern, and coldly immaculate. Nestled at the base of a private hillside just beyond the Capitol's elite district, the estate sprawled across several acres of manicured land.
Fountains lined the driveway, water cascading over polished black stone in rhythmic arcs. Rows of ornamental ginkgo trees framed the entrance, their golden leaves rustling in the evening breeze like the whisper of old money.
The house towered in silent authority—its façade a harmony of glass, steel, and white stone. Floor-to-ceiling windows caught the dying light, casting obsidian reflections and revealing only silhouettes inside.
Security bowed slightly as Sanghyun stepped out. His polished shoes clicked against imported marble. Automated lights glowed amber as he approached the grand onyx doors, the Han crest etched into their surface like a family sigil carved into stone.
Inside, the scent of aged wood and fresh lilies greeted him. The foyer stretched upward into silence, with a double staircase curving like swan necks—handrails wrapped in lacquered mahogany and brass. Abstract paintings lined the walls, selected more for price than meaning.
Despite the warm lighting, the space radiated pressure, power, and expectation.
Then she appeared—Yoon Sera.
She stood at the end of the hall like a queen expecting tribute—poised, polished, and brimming with barely veiled resentment.
At forty-three, she maintained the elegance demanded of a chaebol wife. Her honey-brown hair was pulled into a perfect twist, her ivory silk blouse tucked into tailored high-waisted slacks. Diamond studs glittered under the lights, and her manicured nails tapped rhythmically against her arm.
But beneath the flawless surface, her eyes betrayed something raw—a woman constantly on edge, rehearsing every move in a world she no longer trusted to stay in her control.
Yoon Sera was the only daughter of Yoon Jin-seok, CEO of Yoon Logistics—a long-time business partner of Han Group. Her father's company managed the transportation, warehousing, and supply chains for Han Group's massive real estate and mining operations.
Without Yoon Logistics, deliveries stalled. Equipment sat idle. Costs soared. Replacing the company wasn't impossible, but it was slow, expensive, and risky.
That was why Han Gyeongseok had arranged their marriage when Sanghyun was barely old enough to disobey—and wise enough not to. The elder Han believed in alliances, not affections.
That was how it used to be.
But not anymore.
Six years ago, after the dreams began, Sanghyun started preparing. Quietly.
Yoon Jin-seok had been getting bold—acting as if being the maternal grandfather of Sanghyun's children gave him permanent leverage.
Sanghyun hated not being in control.
Even more, he hated the entanglement of business and personal ties. He promised himself he would never force his children into arranged marriages the way his father had forced him.
So he began cutting away.
Han Group slowly reduced its reliance on Yoon Logistics—diversifying vendors, investing in local and overseas logistics companies, and cultivating independent distribution lines.
He even founded a logistics company of his own under a pseudonym—waiting for the day it would rise high enough to compete openly.
Toward Sera, he had always been polite. Distant. Faithful, at least in public. That had been enough—for a while. He endured her tantrums, her vanity, her obsession with appearances—for the sake of their children.
But lately, she had crossed the line.
And his patience was running thin.
"Are you really going to let that girl attend Daehyun Academy with our kids?" Her voice pierced the silence like a dagger.
He didn't respond immediately, calmly setting down his briefcase.
From a young age, Sera had learned that the world bent to those who possessed beauty, status, and influence.
She had never accepted a 'no'—not without turning it into a yes by force of will or volume. Maids tiptoed around her moods. Teachers were bribed or replaced. Friends were curated, then discarded when they fell out of line.
Her tantrums were treated like weather—unpredictable, destructive, but ultimately to be endured.
So when her father arranged her marriage to Han Sanghyun, she hadn't questioned it.
To her, it had been a victory.
She had won.
Until she found out about the mistress.
Not just a mistress, but a child. A daughter hidden away like a stain in the family records.
It wasn't just betrayal. It was humiliation. Not just in her home, but in the social circles that watched her every move.
What wounded her most wasn't that Sanghyun had been unfaithful. It was that he had made her look like a fool.
She could tolerate a cold husband.
But what she couldn't tolerate—what burned deeper than betrayal—was being laughed at by the very people who used to envy her.
"She can go ahead if she's that desperate to be humiliated," Sera said with a taunting smile. "You think those kids won't tear her apart the second they find out who her mother is? You think Soyun and Minjae can walk through those halls without whispers trailing behind them?"
Her voice sharpened.
"You really believe our children won't suffer from this?"
Sanghyun felt her words pierce straight through his ears, sharp and grating. His temple throbbed with rising pressure.
"Tell me," she pressed on, relentless. "Are you really going to parade your mistake in front of the entire upper circle? It took six years for the scandal to die down. Sending her to Daehyun will drag it all back into the spotlight!"
He turned his head slowly.
"Shut up," he said, voice cold.