Flashback — Fifteen Years Ago, Seoul
The rain that night had a strange rhythm—soft, then sharp, like it was trying to warn me. I remember staring at my mother's reflection in the window, the city lights dancing on her face. She smiled at me, told me not to stay up too late studying. That was the last time I saw her alive.
I was sixteen, still believing that bad things only happened in movies. Our house sat on the quiet hills of Gangnam, where secrets were sealed behind designer curtains and polite smiles. My father, Kim Seung-ho, was a respected businessman. People said he was building something powerful—too powerful, maybe.
That night, I woke up to the sound of glass shattering. Then… silence. The kind that presses on your chest until you can't breathe. I crept downstairs, barefoot, holding my phone like it could protect me.
The smell hit me first—smoke, gunpowder, something metallic. I remember whispering, "Mom?" but no one answered. The chandelier was still swinging, its crystals trembling with the memory of chaos. I saw shadows move through the smoke, tall men in dark coats, their voices cold and professional.
I hid behind the staircase. My heartbeat was so loud I thought they'd hear it. One of them was talking on the phone. "Yes, Mr. Xu. It's done. The files are secure. No survivors."
Mr. Xu.
Even now, I can still hear the way he said that name—with fear, with obedience. Xu Jiao. I didn't know who he was then, but I remembered it. I carved it into my mind like a curse.
I tried to move, to run, but the floor creaked beneath me. One of the men turned. I froze. He walked closer, his boots wet from the rain, his gun gleaming in the dim light. For a moment, I thought it was over. But then something—maybe fate—saved me. The other man called out, "We're done here!" and they left.
When they were gone, I crawled to my parents. My father was lying beside the desk, his hand reaching toward me, as if he'd tried to protect something. I followed the line of his arm—and found a small USB drive under his palm. I didn't know it then, but that was the beginning of everything.
The sirens came later, the flashing lights painting the house in red and blue. The police said it was a burglary. They told me to move on, to forget. But I saw the fear in their eyes when I said the name Xu Jiao. They knew. They all knew.
For years, I tried to live normally. Or at least pretend. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw the rain, the glass, the men, my parents. And I heard that name.
Xu Jiao.
When I turned twenty-five, I found a photo in an old business magazine. "Xu Jiao — The Empire Behind The Empire." The same face that haunted my nightmares. The same cold eyes that ordered my family's death.
That was the moment my grief turned to fire. I decided to find him. To make him pay.
So I reinvented myself. I became quiet, careful, strategic. I studied business, learned Mandarin, mastered the art of blending in. And when his company announced a new branch opening in Shanghai, I sent in my application under a different name.
Kim Minsu was dead.
But I wasn't.
Not yet.
Shanghai was a city that never truly slept. Neon lights reflected off the glass towers, mingling with the slick drizzle that fell from a late autumn sky. Kim Minsu stepped out of the cab, her heels clicking against the marble steps of the Xu Corporation Tower. She paused for a moment, taking in the scale of the empire she was about to infiltrate.
Everything about the building screamed power: polished surfaces, minimalistic elegance, and a silent authority that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. Kim adjusted the hem of her blazer and took a deep breath. Fifteen years of careful preparation had led her here. Every course she'd taken, every language she'd mastered, every night she'd spent replaying Xu Jiao's name in her mind — it all came down to this moment.
The receptionist, a young woman with perfectly poised composure, looked up and smiled. "Ms. Kim Minsu? Welcome. Mr. Xu will see you shortly."
Kim's pulse quickened, though her face remained calm. She knew the façade she would wear: polite, diligent, unassuming. A secretary, blending into the background while she collected the pieces she would use to bring him down.
Xu Jiao entered the room with the kind of presence that made air feel heavier. His tailored suit, the casual confidence in his stride, the faint hint of citrus and something darker in his cologne — all of it drew attention without effort. He extended a hand, and Kim, trained to maintain composure, accepted it.
"Ms. Kim, welcome," he said, his voice smooth, almost soothing. "I've heard good things about you."
Kim's stomach tightened. Every word, every glance was a puzzle she had to solve. She smiled, replying evenly, "Thank you, Mr. Xu. I'm eager to contribute to the team."
His eyes lingered on her longer than necessary, scanning, measuring. "Eager, yes, but cautious, I hope. You must understand, discretion here is everything."
Kim nodded, keeping her thoughts hidden. Discretion was precisely why she was here. Every charm, every smile, every soft-spoken answer would be a thread she could pull when the time came.
"You'll start in my office," Xu Jiao continued. "I trust you'll find the pace… challenging."
Kim's lips curved in a polite smile. "I thrive under pressure, sir."
For a brief moment, their gazes locked, a silent war of wills. He seemed to detect a flicker of determination beneath her polished exterior. She had to remind herself: Xu Jiao was manipulative, charismatic, dangerous. And she could not let herself be ensnared.
As she walked toward her desk, Kim noticed Victoria standing near the elevators — a sharp, poised figure with an air of quiet authority. The Canadian-born assistant, raised in China, had the kind of presence that demanded attention even when she said nothing. Kim's instincts prickled.
Victoria's eyes lingered on her a moment too long, then flicked away with a subtle narrowing. There was suspicion there, buried under the guise of professionalism. Kim filed the observation away: every ally, every enemy, every bystander was a potential puzzle piece.
The office itself was a labyrinth of glass walls and muted conversation. Colleagues passed by, exchanging smiles and nods. None suspected the storm Kim carried beneath her calm exterior. Yet every step she took reminded her of the truth she'd buried so carefully beneath years of reinvention: Xu Jiao had killed her family.
Her fingers brushed the top drawer of her new desk, where she would hide a small notebook to record observations and whispers of office secrets. Each entry was a seed, each careful glance a strategy. She was patient. She was precise. And above all, she was silent.
Xu Jiao appeared unexpectedly at the edge of her workspace. His presence filled the room, a gravitational force that Kim had trained herself to resist. "I trust you've settled in?" he asked, leaning lightly against the glass partition.
Kim looked up, keeping her expression neutral. "Yes, sir. Everything is in order."
He smiled — that infuriatingly charming, calculating smile. "Good. I like a secretary who anticipates needs before they're spoken."
The subtle compliment made Kim's pulse skip. She had expected nothing less than attempts to draw her in, and he was clever — his charisma a tool, a trap. She responded with equal subtlety, offering a polite smile, measuring her tone to keep him intrigued but unaware.
The dance had begun. Words, glances, slight touches over files — all calculated, all dangerous. Kim felt the familiar thrill of being in control, of bending the rules from the shadows. Every smile, every nod, was a weapon she wielded carefully.
Hours later, as Xu Jiao handed her a stack of documents, their fingers brushed briefly. Kim noted the spark in his gaze — curiosity, recognition, perhaps more — before she withdrew smoothly.
From across the room, Victoria observed. Her expression tightened ever so slightly, a quiet alarm that Kim caught only in the corner of her eye. Victoria's suspicion was subtle, but present. Kim smiled faintly to herself, inwardly congratulating her cleverness. She had noticed, she had deflected, she had survived.
The game had begun, and Xu Jiao, with all his charm and manipulation, had no idea how carefully he was being studied. Kim's lips curved into a barely perceptible smirk.
Somewhere deep in the office, the storm of revenge had already staged.