The downpour over Gangnam was relentless, mirroring the storm brewing within the city’s corporate elite.
E.g. ：The day I proposed, my best friend revealed he was having my fiancée's baby.
Kim Min-joon, CEO of the formidable Koryo Group, stepped from his sleek black limousine with an air of practiced detachment.
His executive assistant, ever vigilant, instantly covered him with a vast, black umbrella, shielding him from the relentless deluge.
Min-joon’s gaze swept over the chaotic scene before him without a flicker of emotion.
Just outside the gleaming corporate tower, amid the driving rain, a young woman was frantically trying to gather a cascade of fallen files.
She was Lee Hwa-young, a contract employee, and the scattered documents were soaked, blurring vibrant marketing designs into watery hues.
Her hair, plastered to her face, cascaded with rain, and her cheap suit clung uncomfortably to her slender frame.
Min-joon’s steps paused, not out of concern, but due to the minor obstruction she presented.
His voice was a low, resonant baritone, colder than the Seoul winter air.
“Move aside,” he commanded, his words clipped and precise.
“This isn’t the place for distractions; some battles require your full attention, not misplaced pity.”
He continued walking, barely acknowledging her struggle.
Hwa-young froze, not from the cold, but from the raw dismissal in his tone.
Yet, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips as she watched his retreating back.
She had spent years meticulously crafting this moment.
The Ghost of Koryo’s Past
Lee Hwa-young was not her real name.
She was Lee Min-ha, the rightful heir to nearly a third of the Koryo Group, a truth buried under layers of corporate deceit and family betrayal.
Her grandfather, Lee Jin-woo, had been the brilliant co-founder alongside Kim Min-joon’s own grandfather.
Their vision built Koryo into an empire.
But after her grandfather’s sudden, suspicious death, the Kim family, led by Min-joon’s calculating father, systematically marginalized and eventually disinherited Min-ha’s branch.
Her parents had vanished, leaving young Min-ha to be raised by a distant relative, stripped of her identity and birthright.
She grew up in the shadows, watching the empire that should have been hers flourish under the Kim family’s sole dominion.
The injustice festered, transforming into a singular, unwavering purpose: reclaim what was stolen.
For the past three years, Min-ha had infiltrated Koryo Group, first through a subsidiary, then as a “contract worker” in the main corporate tower.
She used her assumed identity, Lee Hwa-young, as a shield, observing, collecting information, and building a quiet network of disillusioned employees and hidden allies.
The files she had "accidentally" dropped were not mere marketing materials.
They contained encrypted data, evidence of the Kim family’s illicit financial dealings, and most crucially, the final pieces of a proxy battle she had secretly orchestrated for months.
Min-joon, the current CEO, was a complex figure.
He was notoriously cold, his public persona a meticulously crafted mask of unyielding corporate power.
But Min-ha, from her vantage point in the lower echelons, had observed something else.
A subtle weariness in his eyes, a desperate urgency in his actions that suggested he, too, was fighting a battle.
Perhaps he was not just the oppressor, but a pawn in a larger, more sinister game orchestrated by his own family elders.
The Calculated Incident
The "accident" with the files was a carefully planned theatrical performance.
Min-ha had needed Min-joon to witness her "incompetence" one last time.
She needed his cold dismissal, the final confirmation of his family’s ingrained arrogance.
As he walked past her, his harsh words weren't just dismissive; they were a confirmation of the pressure he himself was under.
"Some battles require your full attention," he had said, revealing his own internal struggle.
He was trying to protect Koryo Group, but from whom?
Min-ha allowed a single, defiant drop of rain to trace a path down her cheek, indistinguishable from a tear.
She straightened her spine, her soaked suit no longer a symbol of humility, but a uniform of stealth.
With a fluid, deliberate motion, she unclipped her employee ID badge.
It was a standard-issue plastic card, displaying the name "Lee Hwa-young, Marketing Associate."
But to Min-ha, it represented years of quiet suffering, meticulous planning, and profound deception.
She let it fall.
It landed with a soft, almost imperceptible clink on the highly polished surface of Min-joon's designer leather shoe.
The contrast was stark: her cheap plastic against his expensive leather.
Min-joon, having taken only a few more steps, paused, sensing the sudden cessation of movement behind him.
He slowly turned, his expression unreadable, a question lingering in his cold eyes.
Min-ha met his gaze, her own eyes burning with a fierce, quiet triumph.
"Consider my attention elsewhere," she stated, her voice clear and resonant, slicing through the noisy downpour.
"I quit."
The words hung in the air, a common enough phrase, yet imbued with an extraordinary weight in this specific context.
Min-joon’s brow furrowed, a flicker of annoyance, perhaps.
He was accustomed to power, to people bowing to his will, not defying it.
But Min-ha wasn't finished.
"And by the way," she continued, a faint, confident smile now touching her lips.
"The board meeting is starting right now, and you seem rather unprepared for its true agenda."
Her words were a poison dart, precisely aimed.
