Seoul National Hospital, Luxury VIP Room, Morning. The sun was just peeking through, its soft rays blocked by the champagne- colored automatic curtains .
Yi-seul woke up with a dull headache and complete confusion. The first thing that greeted her was a scent: not the sharp, antiseptic smell of a hospital, but the soft scent of lavender and white roses, like a luxury spa. She opened her eyes. The ceiling was high, adorned with minimalist crystal chandeliers that reflected the dim light. This wasn't her room. This wasn't even a hospital.
Or, this was the kind of hospital he only saw in cheesy chaebol dramas .
He tried to raise his hand to massage his temples. That's when a cold panic began to creep in.
His hand. It's not his hand.
The hands were slender, the bones delicate, and the skin as white as porcelain. Her fingers were adorned with a perfect manicure in a sparkling nude . Yi-seul — a chef whose hands were always rough, stained with turmeric or charcoal—had never had hands like these. Her real hands should have been covered in burn scars and small knife cuts.
With a pang of fear, she turned her head to the side. On the black marble nightstand lay an expensive Hermès purse and a gold-framed pocket mirror. Slowly, she reached for the mirror.
He saw the face of a stunningly beautiful woman. Large almond eyes, a perfectly aquiline nose, and full lips that he usually only saw in fashion magazines. It was an unfamiliar face, a face he vaguely recognized: Joo Hyu-rim , sole heiress of the Hansung Group.
Yi-seul's heart felt like it stopped.
"No... it can't be," she whispered, her voice soft, trembling, and not her own . "I... I'm Chef Ha Yi-seul. I should..."
His last memory was the acrid smell of gas, the raging flames, and the pain that gripped him in the kitchen of his small restaurant. He remembered preparing a large order for a charity event and trying to fix a leaking gas regulator. He remembered pitch blackness. He should have died.
So how did he get here? In Joo Hyu-rim's body?
Yi-seul's head was filled with pure confusion and panic. She tried to get up, intending to run, but a dull pain in her left wrist stopped her. She looked down.
Hyu-rim's wrist was wrapped in a thick bandage, wrapped in layers of sterile gauze, tied neatly. It was too thick. What doctor would bandage a suicide wound—because, yes, she remembered the news about Joo Hyu-rim's panic attack and suicide attempt —so neatly and thickly? It looked like... he was hiding something. Yi-seul, who was used to dealing with injuries in the kitchen, felt something was wrong with the way the bandage was wrapped.
The VIP room door slid open automatically.
A man entered the room. He looked tired but perfectly groomed in an expensive suit. His stern, worried face looked familiar. It was Joo Seok-hoon , Hyu-rim's step-uncle, who now runs the Hansung Group.
Uncle Seok-hoon (PSH) approached the bed with brisk steps, but when he saw Yi-seul's eyes open, his steps faltered slightly. His emotions were clear: tense, but trying hard to fake sadness and relief.
"Hyu-rim! Oh my, you're awake. Thank goodness," he said, his voice a little too loud and fake-warm. He sat down in the chair beside her, taking the Heiress's hand —Yi-seul's trapped hand. "You made Uncle worry so much."
Yi-seul reflexively pulled her hand away. PSH looked surprised by the rejection, but quickly hid it.
"Excuse me, Uncle," Yi-seul said, trying to imitate Hyu-rim's supposedly elegant voice. Her voice sounded foreign and very soft. "What... what happened?"
PSH let out a long sigh, feigning relief. "You had a minor accident. You know, mild food poisoning and a really bad panic attack. The doctor said the stress had built up. I didn't expect you to..." He pointed to Yi-seul's wrist. "Do this."
Food poisoning and a panic attack? Chef Yi-seul immediately sensed something was amiss. Perfectionist Hyu-rim couldn't possibly have food poisoning. And why didn't PSH mention her kitchen explosion? Were her soul and body two separate tragedies?
"I... I don't remember," Yi-seul said.
"It's okay, kid. Don't force it," PSH said, patting his hand again, this time a little too long. "The important thing is, you're back. Hansung needs you. And Raon... Yes, the Raon Group is waiting for good news."
PSH shifted his chair closer. The tension around his eyes grew more apparent, as if he were playing a role.
"Now, Hyu-rim, we must immediately do what is best for both groups. Uncle has already spoken to the board. Your marriage to Mr. Ra Yoon-jae must take place immediately, son."
"Marriage?" Yi-seul (Emotion: Confusion, Rejection ). "But... we don't even know each other yet!"
PSH adjusted his tie. "Don't be ridiculous. This is the Hansung Group and the Raon Group. This is a construction and resort alliance . This is destiny, son. Besides, Yoon-jae has been waiting for you for a long time."
Yi-seul eyed PSH suspiciously. This man seemed very urgent . This wasn't an uncle's concern, this was a business transaction .
"But... my condition..." Yi-seul pointed to her wrist.
"The doctor has already declared you fine for the administration," PSH quickly interjected. "Besides, Yoon-jae has already agreed to expedite it. He is a man of principle and respects his father. He wants to secure Raon's future."
Yi-seul looked at her wrist again. The thick bandage. The overly friendly PSH. Her suspicions grew stronger.
Seok-hoon lied.
"Uncle," Yi-seul said, trying to imitate Hyu-rim's usually haughty tone. "Please, leave me alone. I need to rest. I need to think about this marriage."
PSH stared at him for a moment. The tension on his face eased slightly, replaced by a sly smile that quickly faded.
"Of course, son. Think about it carefully. Uncle will send a wedding planner later. Get well soon."
PSH turned around, his steps more steady as he left the room.
As soon as the door closed, Yi-seul shakily unwrapped the thick bandages on her wrist. Beneath the layers of gauze and bandages, she found a wound. It wasn't a smooth cut, but a deep, uneven cut , like someone trying to hide evidence of a crime, not an injury.
What kind of suicide wound is this?
Yi-seul, the soul of a Chef who must fight for her life, is now trapped in the body of an heiress whose soul may be forced to leave. Her emotions shift from panic to cold determination.
"Joo Seok-hoon," Yi-seul whispered, staring at the scar on Hyu-rim's wrist. "If you did it, I will use this body to destroy you."
Outside, PSH took out her phone and made a call. "He's awake. Yes, he agreed to the marriage. But... he's changed. He doesn't recognize me. Keep an eye on him, and make sure Ra Yoon-jae signs all the Hansung property documents before he wakes up."