The Kang Corp tower rose like a monument of glass and steel, its name etched in silver against the skyline. Ashling stood in the marble lobby, heels clicking softly as she crossed the polished floor. She knew this wasn't a visit meant to flatter her. Omma hadn't invited her here to "welcome" her into the family. No, this was something else.
This was a reminder: Look at the world you've married into. Look at Hyundai. This is power, and it will never be yours.
She adjusted her blouse — ivory silk, sleeves rolled neatly to her forearms — and smoothed her navy trousers. The diamond bracelet and watch at her wrist glimmered subtly in the light. Her navy pumps with the white strip and diamond-studded heels caught stares as she walked, though she pretended not to notice. Her hair, worn loose and natural, brushed her shoulders in soft waves.
Whispers trailed her as she passed.
"Who is she?" one woman murmured in Korean.
"An investor's daughter?"
"No, look at the watch. Old money."
"Maybe she's legal counsel."
Ashling kept her gaze forward, her stride even. Let them guess.
Omma waited by the elevators, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. She offered the smallest of smiles, tilting her chin toward the glass doors. "Come. You should see where this family truly lives."
The elevator hummed upward, the city shrinking below. When the doors opened, Ashling was led through gleaming halls, past frosted glass doors etched with the Kang name. The scale of it pressed down on her — not just a company, but an empire.
"This," Omma said as they entered a conference lounge, "is Kang Corp."
Executives rose to their feet. And at the head of the table sat a man whose presence filled the room without effort.
Ashling's heart stumbled.
Chairman Kang.
The man from the elevator. The one whose assistants had debated strategy, whose silence she had interrupted with her own blunt advice. His gaze flicked to her now, sharp, assessing. A faint glimmer of recognition lit his eyes.
Omma gestured lightly. "My son's wife. Ashling."
Chairman Kang leaned back in his chair, his voice low but certain. "Yes. We've met."
Omma's head turned sharply, but she masked her surprise with a polite smile. "Ah. So you have."
Ashling inclined her head, pulse steadying even as it raced. She hadn't expected this. Not here. Not with Omma watching.
The meeting resumed. Executives began discussing market projections, labor disputes, expansion plans. Their voices flowed in rapid Korean, clearly assuming she couldn't follow.
Ashling sat quietly, hands folded in her lap. She caught every word. When the debate circled yet again — too fast, too costly, the unions will resist — she felt the familiar frustration rising. And before she could stop herself, she spoke.
"In my opinion," she said evenly, in flawless Korean, "you are both wrong."
The room froze. All eyes snapped to her.
She continued, her tone calm, almost casual. "This isn't about speed or caution. It's about story. You sell Hyundai not as a company chasing the future, but as the one building it. You don't just market cars. You market vision. That is how you bring the board, the unions, and the investors with you."
The silence afterward was sharp. Even Omma stared, her composure cracked for the briefest instant. She hadn't known Ashling spoke Korean.
Chairman Kang's mouth curved faintly. "I told you. Interesting."
The rest of the tour passed in silence. Omma led her through the tower's polished corridors, but her steps were tighter, her smile thinner. When they reached the ground floor again, Omma stopped before the doors, her gaze cold.
"You've met my husband," she said, voice smooth as porcelain. "And now you've seen Kang Corp. Our world."
Ashling bowed her head politely. "Yes, ma'am."
Omma's eyes narrowed. "Then it is only fair that I meet yours. Your parents. Your family. Properly."
Ashling's breath caught, but she forced a serene smile. "Of course. In time."
"Sooner would be better," Omma pressed, her tone edged. "I prefer to know exactly who has entered my house."
Ashling nodded, steady though her pulse thundered. "Yes, ma'am."
That night, the Kang residence was quiet, the city a glittering sprawl beyond the glass windows. Ashling padded into the kitchen barefoot, silk pajama pants brushing against tile. She opened the massive refrigerator — all imported condiments and sparkling water, not a scrap of real food.
A soft click behind her made her turn. Young Kwang stood in the doorway, hair mussed, T-shirt loose, looking more boyish than the actor plastered across billboards.
"You too?" he asked.
She smiled sheepishly. "Starving. Your family doesn't believe in leftovers?"
He peered into the fridge, sighed. "We could hit the 7-Eleven. They always have ramen."
Ashling laughed. "Cup noodles? That's your big idea?"
"Got a better one?"
She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Take me with you."
Minutes later, they walked through the quiet streets, sneakers scuffing the pavement. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of grilled meat from somewhere ahead.
About a kilometer into town, they saw it: a crowd milling outside a neon-lit burger joint, laughter spilling into the street.
Ashling tugged his sleeve. "There. Let's try it."
Inside, the tables were sticky, the fries greasy, the burgers wrapped in paper. But the first bite made her eyes widen. "Oh my God. This is amazing."
Young Kwang chuckled, watching her. "You're that happy over a burger?"
She nodded earnestly. "Good food is good food. I don't care if it's on silver plates or paper wrappers."
He stared at her across the table, the neon glow softening her features, her diamond bracelet winking as she reached for another fry. Something shifted in him. She wasn't chasing fame, wasn't dazzled by money. She could be content with a midnight burger, and that — more than anything — made her untouchable.
Unknown to him, she'd grown up with silver plates and crystal goblets, with dishes that took an hour to describe. And maybe that was why she loved this moment so much: because greasy burgers and ketchup-stained fingers felt more real than all the curated meals of her childhood.
When she caught him staring, she raised a fry like a toast. "To burgers."
He clinked his fry against hers, smiling despite himself. "To burgers."