The scarred man lunged forward mid-sentence, his large hand snapping out to seize Do Hana.
She had no strength to resist—her vision blurred, her knees buckling.
In another heartbeat, his fingers would have closed around her arm.
But before he could touch her—
BANG.
The door exploded inward, slammed open with a force that rattled the entire frame.
A gust of cold night air swept through the room.
Someone had arrived.
The explosive crash stunned all three men in the room into momentary stillness.
The scarred man whipped his head toward the doorway—
and froze.
A young girl stood there.
She wore the newest Chanel princess dress, its pale fabric cascading around her like soft clouds.
Her hair was styled in voluminous European curls, and a string of lustrous pearls rested against her slender neck—each one worth more than everything in this dingy hotel room combined.
At first glance, she looked like the very definition of an ostentatious chaebol heiress.
And yet—
she stood with such poise, such effortless grace, that the gaudy styling seemed to fall away, overshadowed entirely by her presence.
Her eyes held the final contradiction:
a calm, glacial beauty tinged with lethal clarity—
so quietly mesmerizing that even the hardened criminals found themselves unable to look away.
The scarred man had expected rescuers—grown men, armed, dangerous.
Instead, a delicate-looking girl had walked straight into their den.
His grin stretched wide, revealing a row of yellowed teeth.
"Well, I'll be damned. Another one? What kind of lucky day is this for the two of us?"
He licked his lips and swaggered toward the door, reaching out, intending to touch Baeran's face.
But—
CRACK.
A sharp, sickening snap split the air, followed by a scream so raw it scraped the walls.
The man staggered back, clutching his arm in horror.
His wrist—his entire hand—hung at an impossible angle, bones crushed under a force he hadn't even seen coming.
Baeran hadn't moved more than a breath.
Yet she'd shattered him.
"Ahhh—! My hand! My hand is broken—!"
The scarred man collapsed, clutching his mangled wrist as he rolled across the filthy carpet, screaming in agony.
The taller thug jolted backward in fright.
"Damn it! Kill her! Kill that little—!"
At the doorway, Baeran remained perfectly still.
Her icy gaze swept over them from above, calm and disdainful—
as though she were merely observing the lowest, filthiest scraps of humanity.
A slow, cold smile curled at her lips.
She stepped forward, one measured stride into the room,
and with a soft click, she swung the door shut behind her.
The temperature seemed to drop.
It was no longer a rescue.
It was a closed-room hunt.
The next thirty seconds became the most unforgettable—and the last fully conscious—moments of the two thugs' lives.
They never even managed to touch her.
A one-sided massacre unfolded with brutal, efficient precision.
The tall man's knee shattered under a single well-placed kick, a wet crunch echoing through the room.
Before he could even scream, Baeran drove her heel into his chest—sending him crashing through the second-floor window, his body hurtling into the night with a howl.
The scarred man fared no better.
The silver dining knife she had taken earlier flashed once—
and then its blade punched cleanly through the center of his right palm, pinning his hand to the wall like a grotesque specimen.
His scream broke midway into a strangled gasp as he lost consciousness, his entire body sagging under the weight of pain.
In thirty seconds, the room fell silent.
Only Baeran remained standing.
The girl in the princess dress walked with unhurried grace, her kitten heels tapping lightly against the floor. She lifted the hem of her skirt and lowered herself into a crouch beside the window seat.
In the corner, Do Hana shrank instinctively, trembling.
She recognized her instantly—
Baeran, eldest daughter of the powerful Jang family, and Han Seojun's childhood "fiancée."
Because Hana had become Seojun's legal ward, Baeran had already confronted her several times… each encounter leaving Hana terrified and confused.
Now, faced with the same girl again, her breath hitched—
uncertain whether she'd just been saved, or if a new disaster was about to unfold.
Seeing the mixture of defiance and fear trembling in Do Hana's eyes, Baeran let a small smile curve across her lips.
"Don't be afraid. I'm here to save you."
"You… would save me? Why?"
Hana's gaze shimmered—those dark, clear pupils glossed with tears and the haze of the drug still circulating in her system. A faint blush colored her cheeks, and a subtle, involuntary allure clung to the edges of her expression.
Pure and tempting all at once.
A heroine through and through—
beautiful in a way that seemed almost fated.
Baeran propped her cheek against one hand, her smile narrowing into something soft and crescent-shaped.
"No particular reason. Tell me… have I bullied you before?"
Before Do Hana could answer, Baeran reached into her pocket, pulled out Hana's phone, and with a few swift taps transferred a substantial sum into her account.
"I don't like owing people," she said lightly. "Consider it compensation."
Hana blinked, her body too weak to lift her arm, her thoughts drifting through the fog of the drug.
Compensation?
If Baeran was giving her money… then—
Was this kidnapping… not her doing?
Confusion fluttered across Hana's expression.
Do Hana drew in a shaky breath, forcing the words out through the haze clouding her mind.
"Don't worry… I know you like him. I won't get in the way."
"My parents are gone… he's only my guardian. He's just helping me stay in school…"
"That's enough. No need to explain."
Baeran cut her off cleanly, her tone cool but unmistakably firm.
"I have nothing to do with him."
The certainty in her voice struck harder than any argument.
No jealousy.
No obsession.
No trace of the girl who once chased Han Seojun like a moth to a flame.
For the first time, Hana hesitated—
realizing the person crouched before her was no longer the enemy she remembered.
With the danger gone, Baeran rose and turned to leave.
But something tugged at her skirt.
Do Hana's trembling fingers clutched the fabric, her strength barely enough to hold on. She fumbled for her phone, pulled it out, and—after several unsteady taps—opened the transfer screen to return the money.
"I… I can't take your money," she whispered.
"Thank you… for coming to save me…"
Baeran paused, surprised for the first time.
Her gaze fell to the sheen of perspiration on Hana's forehead, the way her lashes fluttered as she fought the fog in her mind.
Then, in a quiet, steady voice, she asked:
"You're still under the drug's influence. Do you want to go home… or would you rather take a bath here first?"
Her calm tone made the question sound almost mundane—
as if violence, broken windows, and unconscious men weren't sprawled around them.
Do Hana's thoughts drifted like mist, her body swaying as she braced a trembling hand against the floor and pushed herself upright.
"I… want to go home…"
Baeran nodded.
She stepped forward, slipped an arm around Hana's waist, and carefully helped her to her feet. Supporting her weight with practiced steadiness, she guided Hana toward the door.
But—
THUD!
The door exploded inward for the second time that night.
A towering bodyguard in all black stood there, sunglasses still on despite the hour. His expression didn't shift as he lowered the leg he'd used to kick the door open. Then he stepped back, making way.
And in the space he cleared—
Han Seojun entered.
Dressed in a flawlessly tailored suit, every line sharp and immaculate, he carried the cold authority of someone born to stand above others. His presence filled the doorway, shadowed and imposing, with an aura so frigid and killing-edge it felt as if the room itself flinched.
He was breathtakingly handsome—
and dangerously unreadable.
Baeran's eyes met his.
Sparks cracked silently between them.