The morning after his solitary night of strategic planning, Kim Min-Joon emerged from his study precisely at 7:00 AM. His appearance was immaculate—a tailored charcoal suit, a perfectly knotted silk tie, and a demeanor that radiated disciplined control. He barely touched the elaborate breakfast prepared by the staff, opting only for a strong espresso and the global financial news beamed onto a large screen in the dining area.
Seo-Yun was still asleep, or so he believed. He left a brief, handwritten note on her side of the bedside table: Headache better? I bought Jeju. We leave Saturday. M.
The note was an act of affection, delivered with the efficiency of a business transaction. For Min-Joon, providing luxury and stability was the clearest expression of his care. He measured success, and indeed, happiness, in tangible assets and flawless execution.
His black, armored sedan glided through the Seoul traffic, a silent cocoon separating him from the ordinary world. The first order of business was the hostile takeover bid for 'Sungjin Tech,' a move that would solidify K.M. Finance Holdings' dominance in the tech investment sector.
At the K.M. Holdings skyscraper, the atmosphere was electric. Min-Joon convened an emergency meeting with his core legal and investment teams. The room, lined with dark marble and glass, was a theater of high-stakes power.
"Sungjin is weak," Min-Joon stated, his voice low and unwavering, silencing the tense chatter instantly. "Their stock is undervalued by twenty percent due to recent internal strife. We move now, pre-market opening in New York. I want our acquisition strategy flawless. No mistakes. Any resistance must be immediately countered. Legal team, ensure the regulatory filings are airtight. I do not want any noise. This must be a clean, swift execution."
He addressed his chief legal counsel, Mr. Choi. "Choi, the due diligence on their current assets is your priority. Find any financial vulnerabilities they might attempt to exploit in court."
His focus was absolute. For the next eight hours, Min-Joon was the conductor of a multi-billion dollar orchestra, directing every movement, anticipating every counter-move. His subordinates felt not just respect, but a deep-seated fear of disappointing him. Min-Joon ran his empire on results, and results were the only currency he truly valued. He had no time for ambiguity, weakness, or, crucially, deception in his professional life.
As the markets closed, the internal reports confirmed a victory. The Sungjin board had capitulated, accepting K.M. Holdings' offer. The merger was finalized.
Min-Joon leaned back in his chair, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face—quickly replaced by the need to immediately plan the integration phase. Success was merely the prerequisite for the next, larger challenge.
While Min-Joon was securing his position in the market, Kang Seo-Yun was waking up in their penthouse. She found his note and crinkled it dismissively. Jeju. M. Another island, another lavish purchase intended to placate her.
She rose slowly, stretching her lithe body, the silk pajamas whispering against her skin. The headache was fabricated, of course. The true 'pain' was the crushing monotony of her life as Mrs. Kim Min-Joon.
Her morning ritual involved three hours of careful preparation—a slow, meticulous process of applying expensive makeup and selecting designer clothes. This wasn't vanity; it was armor. She had a luncheon to attend, a gathering of the city's elite wives, the "Social Swans," where she reigned as the most beautiful, the most envied, and the most strategically married.
At the luncheon, held in a private salon of a five-star hotel, Seo-Yun played her role flawlessly. She discussed charity galas, criticized the latest fashion trends with subtle malice, and smiled warmly while delivering veiled insults. Her charm was sharp, focused, and utterly insincere.
"Seo-Yun, you look absolutely radiant. Min-Joon must be spoiling you terribly after that huge Sungjin deal," commented Mrs. Park, the wife of a rival CEO.
Seo-Yun offered a practiced, soft laugh. "Oh, Min-Joon is busy, as always. But yes, he is thoughtful. He just bought us a little place in Jeju. A small gesture." She used the word 'small' to emphasize the immense scale of the gesture, subtly asserting her husband's financial dominance.
In reality, her mind was far from Jeju or the merger. She was planning her next clandestine meeting with Joo-Hyuk.
She had to be clever. Joo-Hyuk, the artist, the rebel, could not be seen near the circles of Min-Joon's influence. He was her secret escape, her proof that she was still capable of genuine, reckless emotion, something Min-Joon's world had tried to suffocate.
She texted Joo-Hyuk from the table, quickly and discreetly, under the pretext of checking an email:
Tonight. The gallery warehouse. 10 PM. Don't be late. I need to feel real.
The planning of her deception was almost as thrilling as the act itself. It required strategy, timing, and flawless execution—the very same skills Min-Joon employed in the boardroom. Seo-Yun was using her social standing as a shield and Min-Joon's predictable schedule as her cover. Her 'yoga classes,' her 'headaches,' her 'charity meetings'—all were pieces in a meticulously crafted blueprint of betrayal. She took a perverse pride in the fact that her husband, the master strategist, was completely blind to the true, deep-seated rot at the heart of his perfect life.
As the luncheon ended, Seo-Yun drove away, her expression hardening the moment she was alone. The mask of the dutiful, elegant wife had served its purpose for the day. Her path now led not to home, but towards the dark corners where her true self resided, ready for the night's dangerous liaison. The irony was palpable: Min-Joon had just conquered a giant corporation, yet his own house stood on ground crumbling beneath his feet, orchestrated by the woman he trusted implicitly.