Hana sat alone in the grand piano room, fingers resting gently on the keys—but no melody came.
Her heart was in knots.
Mi-Ho hadn't called since the gala. Since that night. Since her name became a weapon.
A soft knock on the door. It was the butler.
"A message, miss. Left without a sender."
She opened the envelope. Inside was a photo—her, unconscious in a hospital bed two years ago. On the back, scribbled in red ink:
"You're only alive because I let you live."
Her hands trembled.
This wasn't just someone trying to ruin her reputation.
This was someone who wanted her erased.