No one had expected Kro to appear.
And certainly no one had expected her to catch the slap meant for Ukraine.
For one suspended second, the entire marketing department seemed to stop breathing. The older woman's hand was frozen in Kro's grip, her face twisted with outrage, while Kro stood before her with infuriating calm, as though intercepting violence was no more troublesome than brushing dust from her sleeve.
Then Kro spoke.
"Ukraine," she said evenly, without taking her eyes off the woman, "close the door."
He obeyed at once.
The click of the door shutting felt louder than it should have.
"Who are you?" the woman snapped, struggling against Kro's hold. "Let go of me!"
Kro released her only after she had drawn her fully back into the room. Then she turned to the others.
"I need all of you to step outside for a moment. I want to speak to our dear guest alone." Her gaze shifted briefly to Sue. "You too. Go get some fresh air."
No one argued.
The staff filed out quickly, stunned and curious in equal measure. Misaki hurried to Sue's side and caught her hand before she could stumble; the poor woman looked as though her body had forgotten how to hold itself upright.
Within moments, the department was empty.
Only Kro and the mother-in-law remained inside.
The silence that followed was thick.
Kro gestured toward a chair. "Would you like to sit down?"
The woman remained standing.
"I have a lot of questions," she said sharply, still breathing hard from fury, "and I don't think you have any of the answers."
Kro's expression barely shifted.
"I think I do," she said. "Since I know quite a lot about you." She paused. "And your son."
The woman's face changed at once.
"What did you just say?"
Kro folded her hands loosely before her. "Someone once told me to take responsibility for my actions. I think that's what growing up is all about. So I'd like you to act your age. Older people are supposed to be full of wisdom." Her voice cooled. "Don't disappoint me."
The woman bristled.
"What do you know about my son? How dare you!"
"Ma'am," Kro said, and this time there was steel in her tone, "I am not Sue. Watch your tone."
The words struck harder than a slap.
For the first time since barging into the office, the woman faltered.
Kro stepped closer.
"Are you going to pretend," she asked, "that you didn't know your son was an abuser?"
The woman's mouth opened, but no sound came.
"How about the many times Sue came to you, begging you to speak to him? How about the conversations you and your son had together, planning how to make her life harder? How about all the moments you watched her suffering and decided she deserved it?"
The older woman stared at her as if she were looking at a ghost.
Because that was the impossible thing.
Kro knew.
Not guessed. Not suspected. Knew.
The old secrets that had been buried between mother and son, the ugly scenes no stranger should ever have seen, the private cruelty done behind closed doors—somehow Kro spoke of them as if she had been standing there in the room each time.
The woman's confidence cracked.
Kro watched her coldly.
"The human brain is interesting," she said. "It forgets what it doesn't need, freezes what it cannot bear, and waters what it wants to keep alive."
Her eyes darkened.
"What astonishes me is that you still water the filthiest memories. It made me wonder whether you might actually be the devil's mistress."
The woman stumbled backward a step.
"How did you—how did you know?"
Kro gave a small, humorless smile.
"That is none of your business."
Then her face hardened again.
"You failed your son," she said. "Completely. You failed to raise him into a decent man. You failed to teach him mercy. You failed to stop him when he became cruel. And now you stand here blaming the woman who protected herself and her daughter from him."
Her disgust was palpable.
"Sue may be quiet, but don't ever mistake quietness for weakness. That was your son's mistake too. Every day he hit her, every day he thought silence meant helplessness."
Kro's voice lowered.
"He never imagined she would one day fight back."
The mother-in-law had nothing left to say. The arrogance had drained from her face, replaced by something uglier—fear.
Kro moved to the door, then paused with her hand on the handle.
She looked back one last time.
"Do not bother Sue again," she said. "Because if you do, what we discussed will no longer stay between us."
Then she opened the door and left, carrying herself with the same effortless authority she had entered with.
For Kro, punishment did not always require hands.
Sometimes the truth was enough.
...
In the garden, Sue sat on a bench beneath a flowering tree, trying and failing to steady herself.
Misaki had not left her side for even a moment. She sat close, one hand loosely wrapped around Sue's, letting her know she was there without forcing comfort upon her.
Still, Sue trembled.
The words would not stop replaying in her head.
This woman right here killed my son.
It was not simply an accusation that shook her. It was exposure. A private wound had been ripped open in front of everyone.
Misaki understood that kind of violation more than she wished she did.
"Miss MD," she said gently, using the nickname she had long grown used to, "I don't believe that woman. And I'm sure no one in the office believes her either. Don't let it get to you."
Sue laughed once, weakly and without humor.
"No," she said. "What she said is true."
Misaki turned to look at her fully.
Sue's eyes were glassy.
"I killed my husband, Misaki. With my own two hands."
Misaki did not recoil. Did not judge. She only waited.
"Why?" she asked softly.
Sue drew in a shaking breath.
"That man hit me every day," she said. "He whipped me with belts. He punched me. He strangled me. He kicked me."
Each word sounded like it cost her something.
"He kept saying Zoe wasn't his. That I'd cheated on him."
Misaki's face hardened.
"He beat me while I was pregnant," Sue continued, her voice dropping. "It was only by God's grace that I didn't lose my baby."
The garden seemed to grow still around them.
"On the day he died," Sue said, "he had decided he was going to suffocate Zoe."
Misaki straightened in horror. "What?"
Sue nodded, tears slipping free.
"He beat me until I went limp. I think he thought I'd passed out. I thought he was just going to steal money from my purse and leave the room." Her voice cracked. "But then I saw him take a pillow and head toward Zoe's room."
Misaki covered her mouth.
"I couldn't pretend anymore," Sue whispered. "I got up. I ran after him. And I pushed him down the stairs."
Her shoulders began to shake.
"I pushed him to his death."
There it was.
The truth.
Ugly, raw, final.
Misaki gripped her hand tighter.
"I'm glad you and Zoe survived," she said.
Sue laughed again, bitterly this time.
"Yeah," she murmured. "But that woman in there won't survive it. Not in her heart. She'll never rest until I die suffering too."
Misaki turned toward her, her expression unexpectedly warm.
"It will be fine," she said. "I promise."
Sue looked at her, wanting to believe.
At that exact moment, Karina appeared.
She was moving through the garden with the restless energy of someone searching for a person and growing irritated at not finding them. When she spotted Sue and Misaki seated together during work hours, curiosity pulled her closer.
"Hey, ladies," she said. "What's going on?"
The change in Misaki was instant.
Her face cooled into open dislike.
"What do you want?" she asked flatly.
Karina blinked. "I just saw you two out here and thought—"
"Aren't you Kro's assistant?" Misaki cut in. "Why are you suddenly acting like our supervisor?"
Sue stared at her, startled.
She had never seen this side of Misaki before—sharp, openly hostile, almost territorial.
Karina scoffed. "Do we have a problem, Misaki?"
Misaki folded her arms. "I don't know. Do we?"
Karina rolled her eyes. "You know what? Sorry I came here."
"Great," Misaki said. "Bye."
Karina turned and walked off, visibly annoyed.
Sue stared after her, momentarily distracted from her own misery.
"Misaki," she said, "what was that?"
Misaki groaned and covered her face for a second. "God, I don't like her. I hate it when I do that."
Sue almost smiled.
"I'll pretend I saw nothing."
"Please do."
And for the first time since the confrontation, Sue let out a real, if tiny, chuckle.
...
Upstairs, Ukraine waited outside Kro's office.
He had been pacing for several minutes now, glancing toward the elevator every few seconds, unable to settle. He did not know exactly what Kro had said to the woman, only that she had walked in with calm confidence and disappeared with her behind closed doors.
It bothered him more than it should have.
Kro saw him before he saw her.
She had stepped out of the elevator quietly and paused behind one of the pillars, watching him wear a path into the floor with his worry. Something about the sight softened her in ways she did not enjoy examining too closely.
People rarely worried over her.
Most of those close enough to know her at all knew she was more dangerous than anything likely to threaten her. Concern, especially over something as small as a slap, was not something she received anymore.
Yet here was Ukraine, anxious on her behalf.
It touched something old in her.
He reminded her too much of Buk.
Of the first man she had loved. Of the one memory that still refused to die. Of the one hope she had carried through years and years of waiting—that somewhere, somehow, he had returned to the world.
And if Ukraine was that return, she would not make the same mistakes again.
Not this time.
She drew a quiet breath, pushed the thought aside, and walked toward him.
He turned the moment he heard footsteps.
Relief lit up his face.
"What are you doing here, Ukraine?" she asked.
"I was waiting for you," he said. "How did it go? She didn't hit you, did she?"
Kro almost laughed.
"She didn't. Come on. We just talked."
Ukraine let out a long breath, the tension visibly leaving him.
"I want to say thank you," he said. "For saving me from that slap."
Kro tilted her head. "Honestly, I didn't care that it was a slap. I would've done the same thing even if she was only about to poke your face with a finger."
He blinked, then laughed. "What? Why?"
"Because I like your face," she said matter-of-factly. "You have a very nice face. Take care of it, okay?"
He grinned. "Will do, Miss CEO."
Then his expression shifted into teasing curiosity.
"Are there any products you recommend? Maybe the ones you use."
Kro narrowed her eyes slightly. "The ones I use? Why?"
Ukraine shrugged. "People keep saying you don't age. Since you started Krosmetics ten years ago, you look exactly the same."
For the briefest second, Kro felt the familiar danger in such conversations.
She smiled anyway.
"Well, I use our products, of course. One of the reasons people trust them is because of my skin. I'm living proof that our products are top tier." She gave him a playful look. "And besides, it's not like I'm fifty or sixty."
"You're inspiring," he said.
"Thanks," she replied, and then, before she could second-guess herself, she added, "How about dinner at my house tonight?"
His answer was immediate.
"I'd love to."
...
AZARADAN
The evening was washing the sky in orange and gold.
The ground outside the palace was damp from the recent rains, rich with the scent of wet earth. Buk crossed the courtyard with a lightness in his chest that had not visited him in months.
Tonight, he would tell his father.
He had made his choice. He had found the woman he wanted beside him on the throne. And because King Bukka trusted General Qin so deeply, Buk had no reason to imagine his decision would be opposed.
The guards let him into the royal chambers without delay.
Inside, the king was seated at a small table with a journal open before him, writing the final reflections of his day. He looked strong, well, entirely himself.
The sight eased Buk immediately.
When the king looked up and saw his son, his whole face brightened.
"Son," Bukka said warmly, "what a gift to see you here."
Buk sat opposite him, smiling.
"Father, I come bearing wonderful news."
The king closed his journal. "After the day I've had, I deserve wonderful news."
Buk laughed softly.
"It's about the woman I've chosen as my queen."
That got the response he expected.
The king leaned forward with clear interest.
"Who is this fortunate girl?"
Buk raised a hand. "First, promise me something. Promise me you won't let the elders influence you against my choice. I trust her with my life. I know she will make a great queen."
"I promise," the king said at once. "Now tell me. Who is she?"
Buk smiled.
"It's Kro. She's the—"
He stopped.
Something was wrong.
For a second he couldn't understand what he was seeing. Then the horror sharpened into focus.
Blood.
A thin line of it was running from his father's nose.
The king, still smiling, had no idea.
Buk lurched to his feet and tore a strip from his robe, pressing it beneath Bukka's nose.
The king blinked in confusion. "What is it? Is there something on my face?"
Buk glanced at the cloth.
Red.
His heartbeat thundered.
"Father," he said, voice tightening, "your nose is bleeding."
"What do you mea—"
The king broke off in a sudden cough.
Blood splattered across his robe.
Buk froze.
Another cough followed, harsher, wetter, and more blood came with it.
"Guards!" Buk shouted, panic ripping through him. "Guards! Call the physician! Now!"
The men outside reacted instantly, but inside the chamber, the nightmare had already deepened.
The king's body jerked.
His hands seized.
He tried to speak, but only blood and broken sounds came out. Then his eyes rolled upward, the pupils disappearing until only white showed.
"Father!"
Buk caught him as he convulsed, lowering him from the chair before he could strike the floor. His own hands were slippery now, stained red, useless against the flood coming from the king's mouth and nose.
"Help!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Help!"
The remaining guards rushed in and stopped dead at the sight of their king drowning in blood.
Buk dragged his father onto the bed, trembling so badly he could scarcely think. The chamber spun around him. Nothing made sense. One moment he had come to share good news. The next, the strongest man he knew was collapsing in his arms.
He pressed the cloth harder, as if pressure alone could force life to remain.
But the blood kept coming.
And as he waited for the physician, for help, for reason, for anything at all—
fear took hold of him completely.
***