The rain hit Seoul like a warning. Cold. Sudden. Unforgiving.
Zina tightened her grip on the leather handle of her suitcase as she stepped out of the airport, the city lights flickering in puddles at her feet.
Her phone buzzed. No name. Just a number. Again.
She didn't answer.
Two years.
Two long years since her sister's body was found under "unclear circumstances."
And exactly one week since a stranger had sent her an email with just two lines:
> "Your sister didn't die by accident."
"Come to Seoul if you want the truth."
Zina had left everything behind — her job, her friends, her quiet little apartment in Abuja — to follow those words. And now here she was, in a city that didn't know her name but held every secret she was determined to uncover.
She flagged a taxi, climbed in, and whispered the address scribbled on the back of that cryptic email.
> "Yongsan District... Jung & Park Law Firm."
She had no idea who they were.
But someone there knew something.
As the taxi pulled away from the curb, her reflection in the window stared back at her: calm on the outside, storm brewing beneath.
She wasn't here to ask nicely.
She was here for the truth.
And maybe, just maybe… revenge.
The taxi came to a slow stop in front of a sharp-edged glass building tucked between older, more faded offices. A small silver sign near the door read:
> Jung & Park Law Firm
Justice. Loyalty. Discretion.
Zina stepped out, brushing the raindrops from her coat. The building looked too polished to be the type that invited unsolved deaths. But she had learned long ago — secrets loved expensive suits and clean glass.
Inside, the air smelled like fresh ink and cold marble. A young receptionist bowed politely.
"Annyeonghaseyo," the woman greeted. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No," Zina replied. "But someone from here sent me an email. About my sister."
The receptionist froze slightly — the kind of pause that only someone trying to hide something would make.
"I… I'll check with the partners," she said quickly and disappeared down a hallway.
Zina glanced around. The place felt quiet. Too quiet.
A few minutes later, a man stepped out of a glass office. Tall. Crisp black suit. Sharp jawline. The type who didn't smile unless he had to — and right now, he clearly didn't have to.
"I'm Kang Jisoo," he said.
Partner. Cold voice. Unreadable eyes.
"You're Zina, right?"
Not Miss Zina. Not you must be her sister.
Just Zina — like he already knew her.
"You came faster than expected," he added.
Zina didn't flinch. "You were expecting me?"
He gave a ghost of a smile. "You got the message. That means you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To dig into things that powerful people don't want touched."
He turned toward the hallway. "Come. I'll show you what your sister was working on before she died."
Zina's heart thudded once — sharp, like a knock on a locked door.
And as she followed Kang Jisoo into the dim corridor, she realized something:
This wasn't just about her sister anymore.
This was the beginning of something bigger.
And once she opened this door, there'd be no turning back.