Areum remembered the first day she opened her eyes in this new world as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
At first, she didn't know where she was. Her eyes wandered slowly across the unfamiliar space—floor-to-ceiling windows, soft morning light, a sleek monitor panel glowing beside the bed, and cream-colored walls adorned with minimalist artwork. A plush sofa sat near a glass coffee table, and a private bathroom was tucked behind a frosted sliding door. In the corner stood a vase of fresh white lilies—an elegant touch. It wasn't until she had taken it all in that it dawned on her: this was a VIP suite in a high-end hospital.
A sharp throb pulsed behind her eyes, as if something deep inside her skull had been torn open. Then, like a dam breaking, the memories flooded in—raw, vivid, and suffocating.
Everything the original Areum had endured—the desperation to be loved, the fear of never being enough, the loneliness of growing up hidden, and the pain of physical abuse—poured into her mind like a tidal wave of someone else's life crashing into her own. It wasn't just a memory—it was visceral. The pain, the shame, the confusion, the hopelessness—it all felt undeniably real.
Like watching a film behind someone else's eyes, the scenes of the original Areum's life began to unfold.
In the first three years of the original Areum's life, she had watched her mother drink heavily every day. Whenever she drank, she became aggressive—throwing things, screaming profanities, and vomiting all over herself. All Areum ever heard were bitter rants about how unfair life was. How, if Areum had been born a boy, Sanghyun wouldn't have abandoned them. How it was all Yoon Sera's fault for stealing away the man she had worked so hard to win—how Sanghyun would've chosen her if no one had interfered.
If not for a kind female guard who had pleaded with Sanghyun to send a nanny, Areum might have starved from neglect.
But the atmosphere in the mansion shifted when Areum turned three—Sanghyun relayed a message through his personal assistant to Jiwon: tutors would begin arriving to educate Areum, and all expenses and arrangements should be handled through his secretary.
Jiwon was ecstatic. It was a sign that Sanghyun was not completely heartless toward his child. More than ever, it reignited her hope—and her ambition—to make Areum the best among his children. She poured all her dreams and expectations into her daughter, determined to make her stand out and earn her father's approval—so that they both might have another chance.
"Baby, you are Mom's only hope."
At first, Jiwon's transformation made young Areum overflow with joy. Her mother, who once only screamed and drank, had suddenly sobered and was paying attention to her. Starved of affection, Areum thought: Even if my father doesn't want me, at least my mother does.
But reality was not what she had hoped.
Every day became hell. Jiwon demanded far more tutors than originally planned. Sanghyun's secretary, acting without discretion or concern, approved all her requests so long as they were framed as being for Sanghyun's child. From that point on, Areum was subjected to a relentless schedule—sciences, math, and languages, followed by every type of sport and musical instrument a child could conceivably learn—all crammed into eight hours a day, seven days a week. Every evening, after the tutors left, she was expected to review everything late into the night before being allowed to sleep.
Like any three-year-old, Areum couldn't even read properly yet. She would fidget, cry, and struggle to self-soothe—still too young to regulate her emotions. Whenever that happened, Jiwon would pinch or slap her in places that wouldn't leave visible marks.
At the age of five, the worst punishment occurred—her mother beat her black and blue for failing to score full marks in math, then locked her in a dark wine cellar and starved her for two days. After that, Areum was never the same. She stopped crying. She no longer resisted. She gave up hope that her mother would ever understand her pain—and focused only on surviving each day.
Sometimes, Areum suffered nosebleeds and headaches during her lessons. A few concerned tutors voiced their worries, but they were swiftly dismissed and replaced at Jiwon's request through Sanghyun's secretary. Around that time, the nanny who had cared for Areum since infancy passed away from sudden, severe health complications.
Over time, only emotionally detached, money-driven tutors remained.
No one cared how she felt. She had no friends—only her mother's iron control, crushing expectations, and an eerie silence. And when she failed to earn perfect scores, the belt awaited her.
She wasn't allowed to attend kindergarten, and middle school wasn't in Jiwon's plans either. Jiwon believed traditional schooling was too soft, too childish for the future heir of the Han Group. In her mind, Areum should be homeschooled by elite tutors to prepare for success at the most prestigious private high school in the country—Daehyun Academy.
Just as Areum sat in the hospital bed, lost in the torrents of memory, the door opened. Doctors and nurses rushed in, interrupting her recollection. They quickly checked her vitals and asked if she was in pain.
"My head…" she murmured.
A male doctor stepped through the door and began examining her without a word.
He was—quite frankly—strikingly handsome for a doctor. There was an effortless elegance about him, but it was his sharply defined features that drew attention. With a sculpted jawline and perfect symmetry, he looked more suited to a luxury brand advertisement than a hospital. His black hair was neatly swept back, his skin smooth and clear, and his dark eyes—framed by silver-rimmed glasses—held a piercing calm that made people instinctively straighten their posture.
She glanced at his name tag, which read:
Dr. Jaesung Eun, M.D., Ph.D.
Hospital Director
Eun Medical Center
"You took a hard hit to the head, so some pain is expected," he said in a calm voice. "Honestly, it's remarkable that you regained consciousness so quickly. We've run a full set of scans—no signs of internal bleeding or swelling. You're healing well. We'll start you on a mild painkiller for the headache, but let us know if it worsens."
Dr. Jaesung Eun offered a slight smile, softening his otherwise stoic face, then turned and exited the room.
The nurses brought in a light meal and encouraged her to rest as much as possible. One of them smiled and gently informed her that her father had been notified—and that he would be coming to visit very soon.
Areum remembered feeling somewhat taken aback.
Her father? The man who had never once visited her?