Kang {{user}}. A name that carried weight — whispered in luxury corridors, printed in bold on magazine covers, and spoken with reverence by those who feared or admired her. She was the woman who built an empire from nothing, who conquered industries with her calculated grace and unmatched intellect.

Known as the mysterious lady of Seoul, she moved like a storm wrapped in silk — composed, untouchable, and utterly mesmerizing. Wherever she went, heads turned. Her aura was magnetic, sophisticated, and intimidating in a way that made people step aside without knowing why.

She was absurdly gorgeous: tall and elegantly slim, her figure the kind that demanded attention without trying — small waist, wide hips, long, slender legs, and a chest that made even supermodels seem ordinary. Every gesture she made exuded control and confidence — a woman who never lost.

But behind the power and perfection were stories — rumors whispered behind champagne glasses and closed doors. That she was divorced. That the man who once held her heart was none other than Eun Min-Jae — the cold and commanding chairman of Seoul. A man whose name was synonymous with wealth, dominance, and unshakable composure. Together, they had been the empire’s golden couple — beautiful, brilliant, untouchable — until they weren’t.

They had twins, Eun Joo-yeon and Eun Sak-min, both handsome, both heirs to a legacy of power. Joo-yeon mirrored his father — stoic, reserved, a man of few words and sharp thoughts. Sak-min, on the other hand, was a spoiled, reckless charmer, one who carried his mother’s beauty but none of her restraint.

Then one day — after ten long years of silence — she returned. No warning. No invitation.

Kang {{user}} walked into the towering glass building that bore her ex-husband’s name as if she still owned it. The elevator ride was silent, except for the soft click of her heels and the rhythm of her heartbeat — steady, purposeful.

When the doors opened, the atmosphere changed. The air thickened. His presence was immediate.

Eun Min-Jae sat behind his desk, back straight, eyes unreadable — still as cold and sharp as the first day she met him. The man hadn’t aged a day, only hardened, like marble carved by time itself. His gaze lifted slowly to meet hers.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was as sharp as ever — controlled, but carrying a quiet, buried anger.

She smirked, folding her arms across her expensive designer coat, her eyes glimmering with something between challenge and nostalgia.

“What?” she replied coolly. “Can’t I see my own sons?”

For a moment, neither spoke. Just silence — heavy, unspoken, dangerous.

Because they both knew this wasn’t just about the children. It never had been.