The K.M. Holdings Annual Charity Gala was, for the Seoul elite, the most anticipated event of the social calendar. It was a mandatory congregation of wealth, power, and prestige, and tonight, Kim Min-Joon was the gravitational center of the universe. The venue was the Grand Ballroom of the Shilla Hotel, draped in white silk and illuminated by chandeliers that cast a shimmering, cold light on the assembled guests.
Min-Joon stood near the entrance, a formidable figure in a classic black tuxedo. He received the endless stream of greetings—bows, polite flattery, and cautious networking attempts—with the practiced ease of royalty. Every handshake was measured, every conversation calculated. This was his stage, and he played the role of the infallible Chairman with icy precision.
Beside him, Kang Seo-Yun was the embodiment of grace. She wore a bespoke emerald green gown that contrasted sharply with her pale, flawless skin and dark hair, making her look like a precious, lethal jewel. Her smile was flawless, her poise impeccable. She expertly navigated the treacherous waters of small talk, complementing rivals and dismissing lesser social climbers with a subtle flick of her wrist or a quiet word. Together, they were the ultimate power couple—a breathtaking display of financial and aesthetic perfection.
Yet, beneath the sheen of success, the tension between them was a taut, invisible wire.
"You're being distracted," Min-Joon murmured quietly to her as they paused for a staged photograph. His smile remained fixed for the camera.
Seo-Yun's smile didn't waver. "I am simply tired, Min-Joon. I told you, the headache persists. And I find Mr. Choi's constant attempts at flattery exhausting."
"Focus, Seo-Yun," he instructed, his voice low enough only for her ears, yet carrying the sharp authority of the boardroom. "Our image is paramount tonight. We are hosting."
She gave him a look that was polite deference on the surface, but beneath, it was pure, cold rebellion. "Of course, Chairman. My apologies. I wouldn't dream of tarnishing your image." The mock formality was a subtle jab that he either missed or chose to ignore, equating her compliance with actual devotion.
As Min-Joon became engrossed in a deep discussion with a powerful government minister regarding regulatory changes, Seo-Yun drifted slightly away, maintaining a visual distance that was socially acceptable yet functionally insulating. She needed air, an escape from the suffocating pressure of being his accessory.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, not for rivals or allies, but for any familiar face that might briefly distract her. She found none that mattered. Her true focus was on the small, private phone she had hidden deep inside her beaded clutch—a phone reserved only for Han Joo-Hyuk.
She had received a text from him just before the gala: The storm is coming. Are you ready to dance in the rain?
The cryptic message both thrilled and terrified her. It meant their final move, the one that would ruin Min-Joon and free her financially, was closer than she thought. Tonight, as she stood surrounded by the wealth she was about to inherit, the irony was a sweet, intoxicating poison. She felt a surge of genuine excitement—a feeling she had almost forgotten.
A waiter passed by, and Seo-Yun took a glass of champagne. As she raised it to her lips, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a nearby gilded mirror. She looked beautiful, powerful, and utterly detached. She looked like a flawless machine, designed for Min-Joon's specific requirements.
Suddenly, a small, almost imperceptible detail snagged her attention. As she was talking to Mrs. Lee, a known gossip, she noticed Min-Joon quickly check the time on his watch—not a standard gesture, but a specific, almost hurried glance. She knew his routine. He only did that when he was about to make a timed call or was calculating a tight schedule.
It was a professional habit, yes, but in the context of their relationship, every deviation from the norm felt like a potential threat to her carefully constructed reality. Was he setting a trap? No, she immediately dismissed the thought. He was too arrogant to believe she could deceive him. His life was too perfect for that kind of paranoia.
But the seed of doubt, once planted, lingered.
Later, during the main auction—where Min-Joon bid and won a ridiculous, oversized sculpture for several million won just to demonstrate his casual dominance—Seo-Yun managed to slip away to the powder room.
Inside the opulent, empty room, she pulled out the hidden phone. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed a reply to Joo-Hyuk: The music is too loud here. When does the real show begin?
She received an immediate response: Soon. Have you secured the access codes? We need the final key.
The 'access codes' referred to the encryption keys for Min-Joon's highly protected personal financial accounts, which housed the liquid capital required for their escape and subsequent new life. This was the final, most dangerous piece of her betrayal blueprint. She had only three days until their trip to Jeju, which she was planning to use as the cover for their sudden disappearance. The key was hidden somewhere in Min-Joon's study safe—a safe only she knew the combination to, a combination he had given her on their first anniversary as a sign of 'absolute trust.'
She looked at her reflection again, the emerald green dress seeming less like a jewel and more like a warrior's uniform. She was ready. She had to be. There was no going back to the suffocating perfection of Kim Min-Joon's world. She replaced the phone, smoothed her dress, and emerged from the powder room, the perfect wife once more, ready to stand by her husband's side until the moment she plunged the financial dagger into his back.
Min-Joon had just finished his bidding war. He caught her eye across the room and offered her a slight, proprietary nod—a gesture of ownership and approval.
Seo-Yun returned the nod, her face a mask of wifely pride. The smile she gave him was her most dangerous lie yet.