2025 — Seoul, Early Morning
The mansion gates swung open just as she darted past them, her breath hitching in her throat.
"Miss Jey Hu!" the maid shouted behind her, heels clacking against the pavement. "Why are you so stubborn?! Master will kill us all!"
Lee Jey Hu didn't stop. Her loose blouse flapped in the wind, and her heart beat louder than the chaos in her head.
She turned the corner—only to crash into a wall of muscle and authority.
Her father.
The moment she looked up, the world seemed to freeze.
Chairman Lee Sung Mo, the cold, polished giant of a man, stared down at her with narrowed eyes. His voice was low and razor-sharp.
"You're still messing around?"
Jey Hu clenched her fists.
"Do you think the world is going to wait while you run away from responsibility?" he barked. "You were born to handle my business. You'll lead the Lee Group someday. And this—this childishness—how can someone like you ever take over what I built?"
She swallowed hard but stayed silent.
"You keep playing games," he said, taking a step closer, "but if you keep going like this… you'll lose everything."
Jey Hu's jaw tightened.
"I never asked for any of this," she muttered under her breath.
"What did you say?"
She looked up, eyes blazing. "I said I never asked for your business, your dreams, or your rules."
Silence. Tension. Her words hung like fire in the morning air.
And for the first time, she didn't wait to be dismissed.
She stepped forward, ready to walk past him, but before she could take another breath, her father's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist—hard.
The pain was immediate, and she gasped.
His grip was steel. His eyes, colder than winter.
"You will not walk away from me," he hissed. "You think this is a joke? Do you think the world is going to bow to your tantrums?"
He yanked her one step closer, towering over her.
"I said get her ready," he barked over his shoulder at the maid, who flinched. "She's coming with me to the client meeting. She will sit, smile, and behave like the daughter of Lee Sung Mo. You will not embarrass me again."
Jey Hu's chest rose and fell as she stared back at him, her teeth clenched. "And what if I do?"
His lips twitched into a cruel smile. "Then I'll show you exactly what I can do. Don't test me."
The maid, nearly in tears, approached hesitantly. "Miss… please."
Jey Hu didn't move at first. Her wrist still burned from his grip. Her pride burned even more.
But in that moment, something inside her shifted—not fear, not weakness.
Resolve.
She yanked her wrist free and turned away without a word.
And for now—she followed.
But only for now.
The sleek conference room felt like a cage, and Jey Hu was its prisoner.
Her father, Lee Sung Mo, stood at the head of the table, speaking to a group of clients—men in suits who smiled with sharp, practiced teeth. But all the while, Jey Hu felt their eyes on her. Always watching, always judging.
She'd been silent for the entire meeting, her father handling all the business talk. Her eyes never left the polished wood of the table, but the words she was hearing felt suffocating.
Then, one of the clients—an older man with a slick grin—turned toward her.
"Isn't it cute how daddy's little girl is playing businesswoman today?" he sneered, his voice oozing with condescension. "She's probably more useful as an ornament than a partner, don't you think?"
Her father didn't react. He pretended not to hear. But she felt the insult as if it were meant for her directly.
Another client, a younger man, leaned forward. "You're probably here just for show," he said, his eyes scanning her form. "Your father's business, your father's role… you don't belong here. You know that, right?"
Jey Hu felt her body stiffen. She didn't respond. But the words cut deep, deeper than she wanted to admit.
It wasn't just the insults. It was their smugness, the way they assumed they could speak to her like that—because of who her father was.
Jey Hu remained silent, her hands clutching the edge of her chair, nails digging into the leather.
Her father continued with his pitch, unaware—or unwilling to notice—what was happening to his daughter.
---
Later, in the Bathroom
Jey Hu barely made it to the bathroom before she felt the heat rise in her chest. Her hands shook, her heart raced. She stared at her reflection, the same face she'd seen all her life—cold, beautiful, perfect. The face of someone who was always expected to be strong.
But inside, she felt like breaking.
She had endured everything—her father's harsh expectations, the clients' jabs, the suffocating pressure. She had stayed quiet. She had played the part. But something inside her snapped in that bathroom. Something she couldn't ignore anymore.
Her reflection stared back at her, waiting.
"I'm done," she whispered.
She took a deep breath and walked out, head held high.
---
Back in the Conference Room
She didn't say a word as she stepped back into the meeting room. But her presence was enough to make all eyes turn toward her. Her father glanced up, a bit confused, but didn't stop talking.
Jey Hu took one deliberate step toward the client who had insulted her.
He was speaking to her father when she raised her hand. The room fell silent.
"I have something to say," she said, her voice cold but clear.
The client turned to her with an arrogant smile. "Oh? Do you?"
Jey Hu stepped forward, her eyes fixed on him. She didn't hesitate.
With one swift motion, she slapped him across the face. Hard.
The slap echoed in the tense silence.
"I'm not some puppet for you to insult," she said, her voice steady. "I've had enough."
Her father's eyes widened in shock. The client, stunned, rubbed his cheek, but didn't dare say a word.
Jey Hu turned her back to them, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't look back.
She walked out of the room, her steps steady, until she reached the doors.
Before she left, she said one last thing, not looking at her father.
"I never wanted any of this. You can keep your business, your rules, your clients."
She left him standing there, frozen in disbelief.
Night, Lee Household
The door to her bedroom slammed shut with a force that rattled the windows. Jey Hu was already halfway through throwing clothes into a suitcase. She didn't bother folding them neatly. She didn't care about the organization. She cared about getting out—getting away.
Her heart was still racing from what had just happened. The slap she gave that man, the coldness in her own voice, the way her father had frozen in shock—it felt like freedom, even if just for a brief moment.
But now, in the silence of her room, she knew there was no turning back.
She yanked open drawers, stuffing more clothes inside, grabbing the essentials: her passport, phone, a few important documents. She shoved them all into the suitcase, slamming it shut when it was too full to close properly.
The tears threatened to fall, but she wiped them away angrily. There was no time for weakness. She wasn't going to let herself fall into that trap.
The house felt suffocating. Every room, every corner was a reminder of how little control she had over her life. How everything was already decided for her.
She had to leave now.
Without a second thought, she grabbed the suitcase and stormed out of her room, heading toward the back exit of the house. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the hallways, but she didn't care.
The maid who had followed her earlier was standing in the kitchen, her back to the door, unaware of Jey Hu's movements.
Without hesitation, Jey Hu yanked open the door, feeling the cool night air hit her face.
Her feet barely touched the ground as she made her way to the side gate. She passed by the garden, the tall hedges hiding her presence. She had to go before anyone noticed.
She stepped into the car she had arranged earlier, her hands trembling slightly as she slammed the door shut. The engine roared to life, and the wheels spun on the gravel driveway.
She was gone.
The car sped away from the house, away from the suffocating expectations of her family. Away from everything she had ever known.
For the first time in years, she felt a strange sense of relief.
Night — On the Road to Busan
The city lights of Busan were just beginning to paint the horizon as Lee Jey Hu's car sped along the highway. Her grip on the steering wheel was tight, her knuckles white, but her mind—her mind was starting to drift.
She reached for the bottle of water she had thrown in her car earlier, twisted the cap off with one hand, and took several deep gulps.
A strange taste.
Bitter. Off.
She paused for a moment, staring at the bottle, but the dizziness hit before she could think too hard about it. Her vision swam slightly. The road ahead wobbled like a mirage.
"What… the hell?"
But she didn't stop. She couldn't. She had to make it to Busan. She had to disappear.
By the time the city signs welcomed her, her hands were trembling. Her breaths came fast and shallow, and her head throbbed.
She pulled into a quiet street, desperate for a place to rest—even if just for a night.
That's when she saw it.
A small poster, half-torn and fluttering on a bulletin board near the convenience store.
> "Looking for a roommate. Quiet home. Flexible rent. Call now."
She squinted at the number, managing to dial it through the haze.
After three rings, someone picked up.
"House Honors You speaking."
Her voice was weak. "I… I need a room. Just for tonight."
There was a pause, then a calm voice replied, "You can stay. The door is open."
---
A Few Minutes Later
She parked outside the quiet house, the porch light glowing faintly. Her legs felt like jelly as she got out, dragging her small bag behind her.
The door wasn't locked. Just like the voice said.
The interior was dim, warm. The air smelled of old wood and something herbal. No one greeted her. No footsteps. Just silence.
She wandered through the corridor, brushing against the walls to keep balance. Her fingers grazed the first doorknob she saw. She twisted it.
The room was empty. Simple. A bed. A small desk. A window slightly open to the night breeze.
She stumbled in.
Her legs gave out the moment she reached the bed, her bag slipping from her fingers. She didn't even pull the covers back—just collapsed onto the mattress, half-sprawled, half-curled.
The dizziness was pulling her under, but not before one final thought floated through her fogged mind
"That water… was something wrong with it?"
And then—darkness.
(To be continued)