Office light. The good kind. The kind that pours in through a wall of glass and makes everything feel sharp and possible.
My new office.
I was behind the desk—my desk—a slab of pale oak that didn't have a single coffee ring on it. Yet.
On its pristine surface sat a single, unassuming manila envelope.
The kind of thing that, in the dramas, always contains divorce papers or blackmail photos.
I slid the contents out. A small stack of crisp, high-resolution prints.
The top one was a wide shot: Yoon-ah and Minhyuk walking down the street last night. You could see the tension in the space between them, even from a distance.
A weird feeling settled in my stomach. This was… real. I'd done this.
I had hired a private investigator.
Because when you're a rich heiress in a K-drama world trying to outrun a plot, you don't just Google stuff.
You throw money at the problem.
And money, I was learning, opened doors frighteningly fast.
Need a same-day report on a two-timing team leader?
Sure. Just wire the retainer.
I flipped through the photos. The timeline of a dying date.
There they were, approaching the upscale Italian place.
Another, taken minutes later from a different angle, caught the moment outside the entrance.
And in that one, two other figures were just entering the frame, their backs to the camera but unmistakable: Han Eun-woo and Kang Minjae.
'They were there?' The PI's notes, clipped to the back, were dry: Subjects encountered superiors (Han E.W., Kang M.J.) at restaurant entrance. Brief interaction. Subjects entered restaurant after superiors.
I kept going. The next few were of them leaving, hours later. The body language was worse. The chasm had widened. And then… the final shots.
The street was darker, lit by neon signs.
One of those signs, glowing a sickly pink, read Love Bird Suite.
And there they were, paused beneath it.
Minhyuk was turned toward her, his posture leaning in. Yoon-ah was half-turned away, one hand holding her phone to her ear.
But it was the last photo, a close-cropped shot likely taken with a long lens, that made my chest ache.
It captured Yoon-ah's face as she looked at Minhyuk's phone in her other hand. Her expression wasn't one of shock or rage.
It was… hollow. A devastating, quiet realization.
The kind of look that happens when the last piece of a terrible puzzle clicks into place, and there's no more room for doubt, or hope.
I stared at the photo, at the bleak acceptance in her eyes.
'Why does she have to suffer like this?' The thought rose, hot and frustrated.
In my old life, I'd have been screaming at the screen. "Just break up with him! He's trash!"
But it's never that simple, is it? There's history, debt, loneliness, the terrifying void of what comes after.
'Why couldn't the writer just give them a cute, slice-of-life romance?' I thought, a wave of fangirl bitterness washing over me.
'Coffee shop meetings, shared umbrellas, soft confessions under streetlights. Charming, happy moments. Was that too much to ask? Did every female lead need to be put through the wringer by a cheating bastard to be "worthy" of her ending?'
I sighed, the sound too loud in my quiet, sunlit office.
The fantasy was crumbling.
This wasn't a story I was watching anymore. It was a world I was in. And the person suffering was a woman who, against all odds, I needed to help.
With careful, almost reverent movements, I gathered the photos.
Evidence of a real heartbreak.
I slid them back into the envelope, sealed the clasp, and unlocked the sleek, discreet drawer built into the side of my desk.
I placed the envelope inside, next to the signed marriage contract that had started all of this. The lock clicked shut with a soft, final sound.
The script was accelerating. And I was no longer just a reader. I had the spoilers in my drawer. Now, I had to decide what to do with them.
Knock. Knock.
The sound snapped me out of my inner monologue. I quickly slid the drawer shut, the lock clicking with a soft, final sound.
"Come in," I said, smoothing my expression into one of professional calm.
The door opened, and a young man with a nervous but efficient air stepped in.
The lanyard around his neck read Secretary Roh.
He bowed slightly. "Excuse me, Director Law. Vice President Director Park has asked to see you in his office."
"Director Park? Me?" I said, the surprise genuine.
What could that old corporate snake want?
"Sure. I'll be right there."
"Thank you, Director." He bowed again and retreated.
I took a steadying breath, my mind racing.
Director Park. The Vice President of Han Group. The master antagonist. The younger brother of Chairman Han. This wasn't a social call.
The walk to his office was a short journey into the heart of old-money power.
The carpets grew thicker, the art on the walls more intimidating, the silence more profound. Secretary Roh, who was introduced to me by CEO Kang as my secretary yesterday, gestured to a pair of imposing double doors before melting away.
I pushed one open and entered.
The office was less a workspace and more a museum of expensive taste and quiet intimidation.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves displayed rare ceramics and leather-bound books that looked untouched.
The air smelled of aged wood and ambition.
Behind a vast, dark wood desk that resembled a ship's helm sat Director Park. A thin, calculating smile was already waiting for me.
I approached and offered a respectful bow. "How have you been, sir?"
"Oh, if it isn't my niece-in-law!" he boomed, the title landing with a false, sticky warmth. "How is your new office? Do you like it?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, feeding him the bland corporate line he expected. "It is an honor to be working within the great Han Group."
A glint of satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "Oh, is that so? I would think someone like you wouldn't want to be working under others when the Law Group is more than enough for your ambitions."
He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Unlike me, who has to… take what is offered from his brother." He chuckled, but the sound was dry, the joke a barely-veiled blade of lifelong resentment.
The classic 'lesser brother' complex. Right on script.
"Oh, it is more than great," I countered, layering my voice with a touch of deliberate admiration. "Especially knowing someone with your experience is here to guide the CEO's vision."
'Just like they say, "Keep your friends close and your scheming uncle-in-laws closer."'
"Hahaha!" His laugh was too loud, too long, echoing unnervingly in the spacious room. "You give me too much credit. But then again, that little boy wouldn't be where he is today without my… careful teachings as his uncle."
'Hmph. Yeah, right. Not like you haven't been trying to sabotage him at every turn,' I sneered internally, keeping my face a placid mask of polite interest.
"Actually," he said, the false mirth evaporating as he leaned forward, his expression shifting to business. "I called you here to discuss a project I want you to take on."
"A project...?" I asked, my internal alarm bells starting a low, steady chime.
"Yes. Han Department Stores is launching a new flagship luxury skincare line, Hanyang Glow, next quarter. It's a pet project, really. High margins, exclusive partnerships."
He paused, his gaze sharpening. "It was my daughter, little Mari, who was overseeing its development. Before your… appointment as Executive Director took precedence in the department's structure."
His daughter. A name clicked into place from the drama's deep lore—Park Mari.
The original Austra's only semi-friend, another heiress floating through the socialite scenes, the one who wasn't fan of her perfect cousin.
'So, I literally took his daughter's job...'
"Anyway," he continued, his smile returning, all teeth. "You'll receive the full dossier. I expect you to see it through to a successful launch. It would be a wonderful way to prove your… value to the board."
He gestured to a stack of folders on the corner of his desk. "Initial marketing projections, supplier contracts, celebrity endorsement negotiations—the works. Our team has poured significant resources into it. The production costs alone are substantial, but the brand prestige will be unmatched."
I eyed the formidable stack. "It sounds like a major undertaking, sir. I've only just started. Are you sure I'm ready for this level of responsibility?"
"Of course!" he said, his tone dripping with false encouragement. "Consider it a vote of confidence. A challenging debut, yes, but one that will cement your place here. A successful launch under your name would silence any… idle chatter about nepotism. It's the perfect opportunity for you."
His words were smooth, logical, wrapped in the guise of a mentor offering a golden chance. But the glint in his eye wasn't supportive. It was anticipatory.
'Wait. Why does this feel like I'm not being handed a project… but a live grenade?'
The marketing costs were huge. The production was expensive. His daughter was just sidelined. And he was handing it all to the new, untested fiancée he undoubtedly saw as a nuisance.
This wasn't a test. It was a trap. Set beautifully, baited with prestige, and designed to blow up in my face at the most public moment possible.
I met his gaze, letting a humble, grateful smile curve my lips. "Thank you for this opportunity, Director Park. I won't let you down."
His smile widened. "I'm sure you won't, my dear. I'm sure you won't."
As I gathered the heavy stack of folders, the weight felt less like paper and more like the anvil just before it drops in the cartoon.
Click.
The soft, final sound of his office door closing behind me did nothing to ease the tight coil of anxiety in my chest.
The heavy folders in my arms felt like they were made of lead, not paper.
'What is that man thinking...?'
The walk back to my office felt longer. The plush carpet seemed to suck at my heels, trying to slow me down. My mind raced, dissecting the interaction.
On the surface, it was a gift.
A prestigious, nearly-complete project handed to the new executive. A vote of confidence.
The money invested was real, the launch plans detailed.
It looked like a golden ticket to proving my worth.
But for anyone with half a brain—and especially for anyone who knew Director Park—it stank.
There was no way that conservative, proud, scheming man would gracefully allow a project he'd likely championed for his daughter to become a crowning success for me, the usurping fiancée he barely tolerated and would help more to strengthen his nephew's power.
His pride wouldn't allow it. His ambition certainly wouldn't.
'I can definitely say there wasn't any problem with the Hanyang line in the drama, I thought, scrolling through my mental episodes.
It was a background detail, a successful launch that added to the Han Group's glittering portfolio.
But that was then.
The fact I'd taken Mari's position in this twisted timeline… that changed everything. The script had a new variable: me.
And Director Park was the type to rewrite scenes to eliminate variables.
'I should look into this. Deeply. Before this pretty trap springs shut—'
Thud.
I walked straight into a solid, immovable wall of tailored wool and warmth. The folders in my arms slipped, papers threatening to cascade to the floor.
"Oh! I-I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there!" I stammered, scrambling to secure the messy stack, my head still down.
A familiar, expensive cologne hit my senses a second before a pair of sleek leather shoes entered my downward vision.
My gaze travelled up—past impeccably tailored trousers, past a sharp suit jacket, to a stern jaw, and finally, to a pair of cool, storm-grey eyes watching me with unnerving patience.
CEO Han.
He didn't reach to help me. He just waited, his expression inscrutable, as I fumbled the files back into order, my face heating with a mix of embarrassment and the lingering shock of my realization.
When I finally had a precarious grip on everything, I looked up fully, meeting his gaze. He studied me for a long, silent moment, taking in my no-doubt flustered state, the significant weight of the project folders, and the direction I'd come from.
His lips parted. His voice was low, quiet, but it carried a weight that stilled the frantic hum in my head.
"Can we talk?"