"In a room full of people, she stood alone. Her dignity shattered, her heart bleeding."
The ballroom of the Yang estate had never looked grander.
Cascading floral arrangements in ivory and blush stood tall on gold pedestals, crystal chandeliers shimmered overhead, and waiters glided across the polished marble floor with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.
The occasion? A celebratory banquet to honor Yang Group's new merger with a foreign conglomerate. In truth, it was more of a show—an excuse for old money to smile, toast, and gossip.
Hana stood by one of the arching windows, champagne flute untouched in her hand. She wore a navy blue dress, understated but sharp, sleek lines hugging her frame like armor. She didn't come to impress.
She came because she had no choice. Her ankle was still wrapped in bandages, barely healed even after a week in the hospital.
But refusing to attend the gala wasn't an option—not when her father made it clear he would drag her there himself if he had to.
"It's your father's company, Hana. You'll attend and behave." Those were the words of her stepmother, always delivered with a smile that never reached her eyes.
And of course, Yuna was here too.
Yuna glowed like a moonbeam in a pale pink gown. Her hair curled in soft waves, cheeks flushed like a porcelain doll.
She drifted through the room with practiced elegance, trailing gentle laughter and admiring glances in her wake.
And by her side, again, was Jin.
The disguise was slipping. Jin no longer wore his driver's uniform. Tonight, he was in a tailored black suit that made him look every bit the heir to a hidden empire.
Several investors mistook him for an international partner. He neither corrected them nor encouraged the confusion.
But Hana saw everything.
He looked . . . right at Yuna. He bent low to whisper something in her ear. She giggled like he'd just told the funniest joke in the world.
And Hana? She was invisible.
Again.
He wandered off, and Hana's gaze drifted to the stage being prepared in the center. That's when the lights dimmed and her stepmother's voice rang out from the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight. We're so honored to celebrate this new chapter of Yang Group with those closest to us. But before the formal toast, we'd like to share something . . . a little special."
A hush fell over the crowd.
"Please direct your attention to the screen."
The ballroom darkened. A large screen descended, and a video began to play.
It started innocently.
Clips from the merger signing, drone shots of the Yang headquarters, a well-polished corporate montage.
But then the tone changed.
Clips of Hana appeared—grainy surveillance-style footage of her in the office, speaking coldly to staff, slamming a folder on a table, glaring across a conference room. Her voice was spliced in:
"If you can't do your job, you're replaceable."
"This company doesn't need fragile egos."
"Tell the board they can shove their opinions into a drawer."
Gasps spread through the crowd like wildfire.
The video continued.
More clips, more out-of-context quotes. It looked brutal, ruthless—vicious.
Then it cut to Yuna, smiling sweetly in an interview-style frame.
"I just want everyone to feel loved and safe at work. I don't believe in stepping on others to rise."
Cut.
Jin standing beside her, helping her into a car, holding an umbrella over her head.
Final frame: "Compassion. Dignity. Leadership. The future of Yang Group."
The lights snapped back on.
Applause. Hesitant at first, then thunderous.
But not for Hana.
It was for Yuna.
Hana couldn't move.
It felt like her lungs had collapsed.
She stared at the screen, then at the smug curve of her stepmother's lips, then finally at Yuna—who bowed humbly like she'd just won an award. Her eyes sparkled with fake gratitude.
Then, they met Hana's.
There it was. The tiniest smirk. So quick no one else would catch it.
But Hana saw.
She always saw.
People were whispering now. Guests murmured and stole glances. Someone nearby actually laughed and said, "No wonder her own father doesn't trust her with the company."
Hana's glass shook in her hand.
And Jin? Where was he?
Still standing next to Yuna.
Still silent.
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even glance at Hana.
Not even when her father raised a toast: "To Yuna, the heart of Yang Group's future."
Not even when Hana quietly walked out of the ballroom.
Looked like they had made their heir apparent now.
There was no more room for her here.
=====
The garden air hit her like ice.
She stood beneath the cherry tree, the only one in bloom this early. Her chest rose and fell in angry, uneven breaths.
That video. That damn video. Who edited it? Who recorded her? Who gave it to the press team?
She didn't need to ask.
It was Yuna.
The same Yuna who stole her mother's garden and turned it into her personal shrine.
The same Yuna who cried about being unloved while secretly planting seeds of poison in everyone's ear.
Hana clenched her fists.
She had let herself hope, hadn't she? That maybe Jin saw her. That maybe, just maybe, someone would finally choose her.
Instead, he stood silently as her name was dragged through the dirt.
She laughed bitterly.
What a joke.
====
Back in the ballroom, Jin was quiet.
He hadn't known about the video. At least, not in full. Yuna had told him there'd be a short tribute.
He hadn't expected Hana to be thrown to the wolves.
But still, he'd said nothing.
Yuna looked up at him now, eyes shining.
"Thank you for staying by my side," she whispered.
He forced a smile.
But deep in his gut, something twisted.
The way Hana had looked at him before leaving . . . it burned.
Like a match just lit.
And he hadn't even noticed the flame starting to catch.