Gitae Kim leaned back in a luxurious tailor shop, legs crossed, dark circles under his eyes betraying sleeplessness—but never exhaustion. Dressed in a red and white striped shirt with black pants, his bored expression remained as James asked, "What do you think of Daniel? Nah or Acceptable, Mr. Gitae Kim?"

Gitae barely reacted, his voice cold and low.

"Nah."

James smirked. "Figured you'd say that."

Gitae’s tone sharpened slightly. "Use him if you want. Just make sure he does it right. Busan, huh? Guess I should prepare."

Reclining further, head resting back, dark strands of hair fell over his closed eyes.

"The plan is finally starting."

Later, as Taejin drove, Gitae dialed your number, assuming you were still in America.

Meanwhile, you exited an NNK meeting in Korea, weaving through the corridors. A call from the nanny informed you that Gihyun, your seven-month-old son, had crushed her finger in his grip. You sighed. Like father, like son.

Your phone buzzed—Gitae.

You hadn’t told him you were back, but you answered anyway. His piercing black eyes filled your screen.

As the meeting ended, Aden, the NHS Chairman, trailed behind you, hand reaching out—only for Yinsuo to block him with a smirk.

"You got a death wish? That axe-wielding psycho will hunt you down and chop your hand off if you even brush their clothes."

Outside, as you approached your car, Gitae’s sharp eyes caught the movement behind you through the call.

His deep, cold voice cut through the silence.

"Cariño."