It began with a whisper.
At first, just one rumor on an anonymous gossip site: "Seo Hara's secret stalker exposed?" accompanied by a grainy image of Hena outside the art gallery. A second blog followed, claiming a woman "obsessed with Damian Lee" was inserting herself into his life. Then a third post, more vicious, accused Hena of impersonating Hara for attention.
It snowballed quickly, and Hena felt the storm before she saw it.
She was sipping tea at the small café near the flower shop when her phone buzzed relentlessly. At first, she ignored the notifications—group messages, articles, even old classmates asking if the rumors were true.
Then Minjae called.
"Don't panic," he said, voice low and urgent. "But someone's spreading things about you online. They're twisting facts and making it sound like you're stalking the Seo family. You need to see it."
Within moments, Hena sat frozen in front of her laptop at home, reading every cruel word.
It was Hara.
Hena knew it. Every lie, every cruel phrase was carefully targeted to make her seem like a threat. "Obsessed." "Mentally unstable." "Jealous of her twin." The stories didn't name Hena directly, but the implication was clear to those who knew.
The pain came slowly—like a knife pressing, not stabbing. What hurt most wasn't the lies. It was how carefully they'd been constructed.
She's scared, Hena realized. She sees me as a threat.
But even as the rumors spread, one man was not so easily convinced.
—
Damian sat in his office at Lee International, the cityscape of Seoul sprawling beneath him. His assistant, Mira, stood at the edge of his desk, uncertain.
"There's been some… noise online," she said. "About a girl. People are saying she's following you."
"Let me guess," Damian said coolly, scrolling through the tablet. "This is about the woman from the art gallery?"
"Yes, sir. She's been seen more than once. And people think she's pretending to be Miss Hara."
Damian frowned.
He tapped the screen, zooming in on a blurry photo of Hena—her head bowed, holding a sketchpad near a fountain. She looked lost in thought. Fragile. Nothing like the manipulative image painted by the blogs.
"She doesn't seem the type," he murmured.
"Sir?"
"Nothing," he said, handing back the tablet. "Keep monitoring this. And Mira—get me a discreet background check on Seo Hara."
Mira's eyes widened slightly. "Hara? I thought—"
"I need clarity," he cut in. "Too many things don't add up."
—
Meanwhile, at the Seo penthouse, Hara lounged on a velvet chaise, a glass of champagne in hand, scrolling through the online frenzy she had orchestrated.
Her phone rang. It was her friend and loyal accomplice, Sora.
"Everyone's eating it up," Sora laughed. "They think she's delusional. Your reputation's untouchable."
"It better be," Hara muttered. "I won't let some backwater duplicate ruin my life. Not now, not ever."
Sora hesitated. "But what if she fights back? You said she found the baby bracelet, right?"
"She doesn't have anything concrete," Hara said sharply. "Even if she suspects the truth, no one will believe her now. Especially not Damian."
But a flicker of doubt passed through her eyes.
Damian. Lately, his coldness had deepened. He answered her calls less, avoided events she invited him to. And the way he looked at her—like he was trying to peel back something hidden—was dangerous.
She poured more champagne, her fingers gripping the glass tighter than before.
—
Hena sat with Minjae in the small courtyard behind the flower shop, clutching the newspaper clipping about the twins from years ago.
"They're painting me as crazy," she whispered.
"You're not," Minjae said. "You're brave. And you're closer to the truth than ever."
"But what if people believe her?"
"They will. For now. That's how power works." He glanced at the clipping. "But power crumbles when truth is louder."
She looked at him, grateful. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because I remember the girl who gave away her lunch to strays," he said softly. "The girl who stood by me when no one else would. I owe her everything."
—
That night, Damian returned to his penthouse and opened a hidden drawer in his study. Inside, he pulled out the old photo of the Seo twins. Two identical infants in Madam Seo's arms. One labeled Hena, the other Hara.
He remembered how Hena had looked at it—her eyes filled with disbelief, longing, and pain.
He had begun to wonder if Hara had known all along.
The phone in his pocket buzzed. A message from Hara:
> Can we talk? I feel like you've been distant. We need to focus on the wedding again.
He didn't reply.
Instead, he opened a file Mira had delivered—a full report on Hara's school history, medical records, and her known behavioral reports. There were inconsistencies. Gaps.
Too many gaps.
The lies were starting to unravel.
And Damian Lee had never been one to tolerate deceit.
—
Elsewhere, Madam Seo stood before a locked drawer in her bedroom. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled out a small, folded letter—aged and fragile.
It was addressed to "My Dearest Hena."
She held it for a long moment, her lips tight. Then she slid it back and locked the drawer again.
The threads of the lie were beginning to pull apart.
And once they did—nothing would ever be the same.