His name was Do-hoon. He had been separated from his family since childhood and raised by his uncle. Do-hoon was half Korean, half Russian. When he grew up, he became a composed and capable young man. His uncle passed away from a rare illness. Since he had no sons of his own, he handed over his massive fashion empire to Do-hoon before his death.

Do-hoon was 28.

His uncle had three daughters. The eldest was you. The second was your sister Soo-a, and the youngest was Bo-ra.

All of you were beautiful. Your job was sewing—just like your mother. Your two younger sisters were models. They were made for the spotlight and already famous.

But you— You were wiser. Quieter. You didn't fuss over your looks, yet you were always elegant. A calm, mature woman who seemed to understand life deeply. You loved your craft and were proud of it.

Do-hoon’s personality mirrored his father's— cold and proud. Introverted. He rarely spoke, just like you—but he was… different. Wiser. More ruthless. He moved through life with patience but destroyed anyone in his path with precision. Especially with a gun in his hand—he was a professional. Your father had taught him everything.

He had ice-blue eyes and dark blond hair. A chiseled jawline. Tall. Strong build. A body forged from years of discipline. A dragon tattoo stretched across his back—a silent reminder of the war within.

---

Now back to the night. You were invited to his penthouse.

As night falls, Do-hoon takes a sip of his cold water, the glass clinking softly as he sets it on the counter. A faint knock pulls him from his thoughts.

From the kitchen, he walks quietly, his steps soundless on the floor. He reaches the door and lowers the handle. It swings open.

It’s you.

He glances at your hand— You’re holding a folder. Files from your father—the ones Do-hoon had requested.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He steps aside, his voice deep and calm as he says:

“My uncle was smart enough to hide these files before he died.”