The ICU room was utterly silent…
Only the steady rhythm of the ventilator and the soft beeping of the heart monitor filled the air.
Yoo Seohyun sat beside Kang Taejun's bed the entire night. She had changed out of her elegant designer outfit into a simple patient gown the hospital provided. Her long hair fell neatly over her shoulders, and her bare face…stripped of makeup…looked pale, as if she had been crying for hours.
Her slender fingers tightly held Taejun's cold hand.
"Taejun… please wake up," she whispered.
Nurses passing by glanced in with sympathetic eyes. The image of a devoted young stepmother staying faithfully by her unconscious stepson's side became a quiet gossip among the staff.
But the moment the door shut, when no one else was watching, the warmth drained from Seohyun's eyes.
The tenderness vanished. What remained was something cold… displeased.
"It would be better if you didn't wake up… Taejun."
Her voice was so faint it barely carried breath.
She slowly placed his hand back down, then rose and walked toward the window. The glass reflected her figure against the sleepless lights of Seoul glowing outside.
"Ugh… look at my bare face. I'm starting to get crow's feet, don't you think, Taejun? Ha…"
She curled her lips in annoyance before turning back to him, lying there motionless, unconscious.
Seohyun stepped closer. She gently brushed the loose strands of hair from his forehead and let her fingers trail along his pale, sculpted face, her touch affectionate, yet laced with mockery.
"Do you remember the day you left me without a shred of hesitation?"
Her voice softened as old memories surfaced.
Back when she had been an unknown model. Back when she and Taejun had been lovers.
Seohyun gazed at his sleeping face for a long moment. Then slowly, she leaned down and pressed her lips against his.
The kiss was tender. And full of resentment. She loved him. And hated him...to the very core.
At the same time, the Kang family mansion was brightly lit. Choi Insook arrived home with Kang Minjae.
"His condition isn't good," Insook said flatly as she removed her leather gloves and placed her handbag on the reception table in the center of the grand, luxurious hall.
The mansion's interior gleamed with gold accents and towering ceilings. She walked over and lowered herself onto an expensive vintage gold sofa. A maid hurried in, offering her a glass of water to quench her thirst.
Minjae gave a calm nod, his expression as composed as ever.
"If he doesn't wake up, the heir's position will become vacant immediately, Mother."
The words lingered in the air, cold and deliberate.
Insook slowly turned to look at her eldest son.
"Don't be too hasty, Minjae. We need to be certain first."
A faint smile curved on his lips.
"I'm only preparing myself, that's all," he replied politely.
He then sat down beside her and offered a small, obedient smile.
Insook gave a brief nod in acknowledgment, her reaction distant, as if the matter required no further discussion.
Inside a private garage on the other side of the city, the roar of an engine thundered through the darkness….mixed with anger and something painfully close to grief.
Kang Seunghyun, Taejun's twenty-year-old half-brother…and the youngest son of Choi Insook…yanked off his helmet in frustration.
He wasn't going to the hospital. He had no intention of going. And he certainly wasn't going to pretend he cared about Kang Taejun.
"A coma… is that it?"
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. Seunghyun had never raced under Kang Motors. Even though his skills were no less than Taejun's, he was never chosen as the main driver. That position had always been reserved for "the eldest son."
The resentment had built up for years.
In the end, he signed with their rival company… Hansung Auto.
Two brothers. On the same track. Under different flags. Different colors. And neither willing to lose.
Thud!
Seunghyun threw his racing gloves onto the snooker table and leaned forward, bracing himself against it as exhaustion overtook him.
"Don't you dare die so easily, hyung…" His eyes burned fiercely. "I haven't beaten you with my own hands yet."
That same night…..One person pretended to keep vigil. One calculated the future. Another fed the flames of resentment.
And in the silent ICU room, Kang Taejun remained motionless. Unaware that while his heart had already stopped once…The true power struggle within the Kang family had finally begun. Not a single person in that family loved him… truly, from the heart.
A little past four in the morning in Seoul… the city that never truly sleeps was taking a brief, fragile nap.
Above the Han River, the sky slowly shifted from pitch black to a deep bluish gray. The first light had not yet arrived, but the darkness was thinning, like a heavy curtain being drawn back, slowly, reluctantly.
Streetlights were still on. Convenience store signs continued to glow…. Tall buildings reflected faint orange light across their cold glass surfaces.
The air at that hour was colder than at any other time of day. Breath turned into pale mist for those still walking outside.
A few taxis drifted by. A newspaper delivery driver stopped to stack bundles neatly in front of closed shops. A night-shift convenience store clerk stood blankly behind the window, staring at the empty street.
In certain corners of the city, neon lights from pubs that had just closed still flickered. A few young people staggered past, laughing softly.
The sound of footsteps striking the pavement echoed louder than usual; there was no traffic to swallow the noise.
The first subway train had not yet departed. The station felt like a vast hall without breath.
In narrow alleyways, lights began turning on in scattered apartment windows. A housewife woke to prepare rice. Early shift workers rose from their beds. Joggers in windbreakers stepped out to warm up along the river.
The city was inhaling…slowly…before beginning a new day.
At that hour, Seoul did not rush. It did not compete. It did not shout. It was quiet enough to hear the wind brushing across the bridges. Quiet enough for one's thoughts to sound unbearably clear inside the mind.