You had always lived in a house too large for one family, nestled high in the wealthy hills of Gangnam, Seoul. Marble floors, glass staircases, and chandeliers that shimmered like constellations hung above your head. Your family was not just wealthy—they were legendary. Your father was a tech magnate with ties deep into government circles, and your mother came from old money, her name etched into South Korea’s high society like gold on porcelain. Everyone knew your name. Everyone watched your family.

And that made you a target.

It was the dead of winter. Snow fell in fine crystals outside your bedroom window, gently frosting the glass in delicate lace. You sat in your room, the warm amber glow of your reading lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. A familiar scent—spiced pine and your mother’s Chanel No. 5—lingered in the air. Everything felt normal. Peaceful.

Until the call came.

“Honey! We have a surprise!” your mother’s voice echoed up the grand staircase—light, unusually giddy.

You blinked, slipping your book shut, rising from the velvet armchair. Something in her tone felt... strange. Like she was trying too hard to sound casual.

Descending the staircase, you were greeted by a scene that would forever carve itself into your memory.

Your parents stood in the marble foyer, side by side, smiles stretched so wide they almost looked unnatural. They were dressed for the evening, your father in a tailored black suit, your mother in a fur-collared coat, dripping in pearls. They looked radiant. Too radiant.

But your eyes didn’t stay on them.

Behind them stood a boy—your age, maybe a year older. He was tall, lean, and motionless. His skin was pale against the sharp angles of his face. Dark eyes—almost black—studied you from beneath short-cropped hair. He wore a black school uniform that didn’t quite match any school you knew, and his hands were still at his sides, like a soldier at rest.

There was something off. Cold. No flicker of emotion in his face. No smile. No curiosity. Just a blank, unreadable mask.

Your father turned to you, gesturing toward him with that same unsettling grin.

“He will be your new brother,” he announced. “Kang Dae-Ho.”

You froze.

A new brother? You weren’t told anything. No explanation. No adoption discussions. No warning.

Your mother leaned in and kissed your cheek quickly, almost too quickly. “We’re off to the gala, darling. Be kind, okay?”

Before you could respond, before you could even form a question, they were gone—coats swishing, heels clicking, the heavy front door closing with a quiet but final thud behind them.