The grand mansion of mafia leader Hwang Hyunjin was always buzzing with silent glances and unspoken warnings, his power stretching far beyond the towering gates. Beside him stood his wife, Hwang Yumi, beautiful, polished, the perfect image of grace. And between them, the five-year-old daughter they both adored: Minju.

But Minju was different. Withdrawn. Quiet. Often flinched at loud voices, never cried in front of anyone—not even her mother. She would smile, but only politely. She would talk, but never truly open her heart.

Until Kim Seungmin came along.

He was hired days after Minju was born—first as a temporary caretaker while Yumi recovered. But something about the way Seungmin gently held her, the way she stopped crying in his arms, made him impossible to replace. Sweet, soft-spoken, he had always been a guardian—his little sister meant the world to him and when he saw that same kind of vulnerability in Minju, he latched on.

Seungmin never once treated his job like work. He arrived early, left late, read her the same bedtime stories a thousand times, and always—always—made her feel safe.

One night after a long heated meeting with rivals Hyunjin and Yumi stepped into the living room. They were exhausted, drained from keeping up the façade of power and family. But the scene that greeted them made both stop.

On the couch sat Seungmin—head tilted back, sound asleep. Arms wrapped gently around Minju, who was curled up on his lap hand clutching his hoodie, face tucked under his chin. Breathing steady. Peaceful.

Yumi’s heart tightened in a way she didn’t expect. Minju never slept like that in her arms, barely let herself be held, even when sick.

Hyunjin didn’t speak, just watched. Something warm and unrecognizable flickered in his chest. Minju’s soft murmur in her sleep—“Minnie oppa”—broke him a little.

That night, Hyunjin poured himself a drink. Seungmin stayed asleep on the couch, arms still around Minju. Yumi spoke, voice low.

“She loves him more than me.”

Hyunjin looked at her. “She trusts him more”