The door to the Seo estate's private tea room closed with a heavy thud. Outside, the late spring rain began to drizzle, casting long shadows over the ornate floor tiles. Inside, Damian stood tall, hands in the pockets of his charcoal suit, his expression unreadable.
Madam Seo sat poised at the head of the lacquered table, dressed in an ivory silk hanbok. Her eyes narrowed as her long-time secretary, Ms. Jung, placed a porcelain teacup before Damian.
"Leave us," Madam Seo said curtly.
Ms. Jung bowed and exited, her gaze lingering briefly on Damian, as though silently wishing him luck.
"You came unannounced," Madam Seo began, folding her hands calmly on her lap. "Not like you, Mr. Lee."
Damian stared at her, then took out the envelope from his inner coat pocket and slid it across the table.
She did not touch it.
"I already know what that is," she said coolly. "And I expected you to come running once you did."
"You knew she was your daughter all along," Damian said quietly. "You had her discarded like trash. Separated from her sister. Separated from everything she was entitled to."
A flicker of something—pain, regret, maybe even shame—crossed Madam Seo's expression, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
"She was a mistake," she replied, voice as sharp as the edge of a blade. "A twin I didn't want. The weaker one. I gave her up for the sake of our name."
Damian clenched his jaw. "She's not weak. She's stronger than you think"
There was a silence so cold it could shatter glass.
Madam Seo rose from her seat, walking toward the floor-length windows overlooking the garden. "That strength, Mr. Lee, could become a problem. You care for her. I see it. And that makes you... complicated."
Damian's silence only confirmed the truth.
She turned around. "Then allow me to propose a solution."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Marry Hara," she said bluntly. "As planned. I will keep everything buried—her existence, the switch, the scandal. The world will never know."
Damian didn't move. His jaw tightened.
"I will give Hena enough to live comfortably. Quietly. Far away from here," Madam Seo continued. "No one needs to get hurt. Including you."
"Is that what you offered Jae-woon?" Damian asked quietly. "Money to disappear?"
Her lips curled slightly. "Jae-woon was a distraction. And a coward. He took the offer before I even finished the sentence."
"And if I don't?" Damian asked, voice low.
She looked him dead in the eyes.
"Then you won't even see Hena again."
The room dropped into silence again, thick with tension. Outside, the rain intensified, streaking the windows like tears the estate would never shed.
A quiet knock interrupted them.
The door creaked open and Yoo Sora stepped in. Madam Seo's ever-loyal aide, always watching, always listening.
"You called for me, ma'am?" she asked.
"Stay with Mr. Lee on his way out," Madam Seo said. "Make sure he understands what's at stake."
Damian rose from his seat slowly. He said nothing.
Not yes. Not no.
But his silence was not agreement—and Madam Seo knew it.
---
Outside the Estate...
Damian stepped into the night, the rain washing over him as he walked down the long, gravel path toward his car. Sora trailed behind, struggling to keep up with his long strides.
"You should consider her offer," Sora said softly. "She never loses."
Damian stopped in his tracks and looked back at her.
"Then maybe it's time she did."
Sora blinked, startled by the quiet defiance in his voice.
"She's dangerous, Damian," Sora warned. "You don't know how far she'll go."
Damian looked at the estate gates ahead.
"I think I do now."
Elsewhere That Night...
At a cozy bookstore tucked between two bakeries in the outskirts of Seoul, Claire closed the shop early. The rain pelted the rooftop as she dialed her friend again.
"Pick up, Hena," she muttered.
The line rang. No answer.
Across the street, a dark car idled quietly, its headlights off.
In the back seat, a man with sharp eyes observed the store window with binoculars.
"She's the weak link," he said into his earpiece. "Keep following her."
Meanwhile, in the village...
Hena sat in her grandmother's sewing room, flipping through old photo albums. A small cut still stung near her collarbone from the night she was chased. Her thoughts were in disarray, her heart heavy.
"Do you regret going back?" her grandmother asked gently, handing her a warm cup of barley tea.
"No," Hena whispered. "But I'm afraid of what's coming."
"You've already survived what most couldn't," the old woman said. "You are your mother's daughter—whether she accepts it or not."
That night, as Hena lay awake, Damian's face flashed in her memory. His words. His concern.
She wondered: what price would he pay to protect her?
And was she ready to protect herself?