Place: Paris, France, at Place Vendôme
Time: Evening
"Break his legs. Knock his teeth out. I don't care what you have to break," the girl says. She is talking to someone on her phone, her voice quiet but dead flat.
She isn't yelling, which somehow makes it sound way worse. "Just get it done. Cleanly."
She cuts the call, leans her head back against the seat, and lets out a long, exhausted sigh. For a second, she just slumps. Rubbing her eyes, she can feel a massive headache coming on.
"Seriously, these flight timings are killing me," she mutters to herself, sounding genuinely annoyed. "I don't even know how I'm surviving this much back-to-back travel. Let's just see how this plays out. Just don't let anything mess up tonight."
From the front passenger seat, her secretary—a man about her father's age—doesn't even look up from his tablet. His fingers keep tapping. "Understood, Chairwoman." He glances out the window as the car begins to slow down. "Ma'am, we're here."
Siwon takes a deep breath, forcing herself to shake off the exhaustion. She grabs her big, dark sunglasses from the seat beside her and slides them on, completely hiding her tired eyes.
Just like that, the tired girl running on three hours of sleep is gone. The boss is back.
Outside the tinted windows, Paris is a total mess. On the car's dashboard screen, a live news broadcast cuts into the silence:
"...breaking news tonight for the global luxury market! Valkyrie Ventures has officially landed in Paris. The targeted French fashion house, once a legendary cornerstone of European style, had been drowning in billions of deficits. But tonight, the predator has turned savior. We have confirmed reports that the enigmatic CEO herself, Miss Francesca Park..."
Click. Click. Flash—
The blinding lights of a hundred cameras slice through the Parisian dusk. Outside the Ritz Paris hotel, the air is thick with reporters shouting over each other.
To the world outside these tinted windows, she is a twenty-five-year-old enigma who has already built more popularity and wealth than billionaires twice her age. But inside, she is just counting down the seconds.
A sleek, midnight-black Mercedes-Maybach pulls up smoothly against the curb, its flawless paint reflecting the dim streetlights of Paris.
The rear door clicks open. She steps out onto the historic cobblestone, flashing the unmistakable golden accents of custom, chocolate-brown formal Oxfords. It's a shoe style crafted exclusively for high-society men—now claimed by a woman who doesn't care about traditions.
The moment she stands up to her full height, the crowd goes absolutely wild.
"Miss Park! Look here!" "Francesca, is it true? Is this a total hostile takeover?!"
The flashing lights are blinding, but she doesn't even blink. Underneath a long chocolate trench coat, she wears a razor-sharp three-piece suit—a pitch-black silk shirt beneath a structured vest, topped with a smooth, cream tie. She looks entirely unreachable.
With a cold, barely noticeable tilt of her head, she motions to her team. Instantly, her personal bodyguards move into formation around her. They raise their hands and align their broad shoulders, creating a human shield that completely blocks the camera angles. Not a single lens can catch a clean shot of her face.
Protected by her moving fortress, Francesca walks toward the entrance. Her stride is smooth and entirely dominant. The automatic glass doors of the Ritz part for her as if on command, leaving the roaring crowd and the uselessly flashing cameras behind.
She walks through the gold-leafed corridors, the sharp 'click-click' of her Oxfords echoing off the clean marble walls. Her secretary and primary bodyguard follow a step behind. When they reach the double doors of the private conference room, the massive mahogany doors swing inward.
The moment Francesca steps inside, the energy in the room shifts instantly. Mr. Clément, a middle-aged man standing at the head of the long conference table, immediately rises to his feet. A relieved smile breaks across his face as he extends a hand.
"Welcome to Paris, Francesca," Mr. Clément says, his French accent thick but elegant. "I hope your flight was comfortable?"
Francesca doesn't answer right away. With a smooth, practiced motion, she slips off her dark glasses, revealing piercing, unreadable black eyes that seem to look right through him. She meets his hand, giving a firm, brief grip. "Mr. Clément."
Mr. Clément turns to the rest of the room, gesturing proudly to the anxious board members. "Everyone, let me introduce you to the chairwoman of Valkyrie Ventures, Miss Francesca Park."
As Francesca moves down the line, exchanging brief handshakes, a heavy curiosity hangs over the investors. To them, she is a myth from the Italian market—a leader who buys dying empires and restructures them into weapons. Seeing her in the flesh feels surreal.
Suddenly, a senior board member—a man with sharp, skeptical eyes and graying hair—interrupts the polite greetings. As he shakes her hand, his eyes linger on her face. "A privilege, Miss Park. We signed the preliminary papers with Valkyrie's European branch under 'Francesca,' but your legal documents state 'Park Siwon.' Tell us, which face of yours are we dealing with today?"
A suffocating silence blankets the room. Mr. Clément tenses up, but Francesca's expression doesn't even flicker. Her hand remains perfectly steady in the investor's grip.
"You are dealing with the entity that owns your debt, sir," she says, her voice smooth but laced with ice. "Park Siwon is the name on the bank transfer that will save your company. Francesca is the name that will collect the profit. You can choose which one you wish to fear."
The board member nods slowly, swallowing hard under her unblinking gaze. He quickly pulls his hand back.
With a sharp, single snap of Siwon's fingers, the small talk is cut short. The meeting officially begins.
For the next four hours, the conference room turns into a bloodless battlefield of numbers, aggressive legalities, and restructuring terms. When the doors finally swing open again, the mood has completely transformed.
The investors and board members walk out one by one, their shoulders relaxed, weak smiles replacing their previous terror. The lingering dread that had haunted the company for months is gone. Valkyrie has signed. They are safe now.
Inside the quiet room, only Siwon and Mr. Clément remain. Siwon casts a brief glance toward her secretary and bodyguard, giving them a silent nod. They understand instantly, stepping outside to finish up the immediate paperwork.
The moment the doors click shut, the corporate mask completely drops from Mr. Clément's face. He looks older now, his posture slumping into pure, heartfelt relief.
"Thank you, Frances," he whispers, using the private, softer nickname from years ago. His voice cracks slightly with genuine emotion. "If you hadn't stepped in today... I don't know how I would have survived the market tomorrow. You didn't just save a brand today, Frances. You saved my family's legacy. You saved thousands of employees who depend on this paycheck. Thank you."
Siwon's expression remains perfectly calm, though a faint, almost invisible shift in her eyes shows she has heard him. Still, when she speaks, her voice returns to a chilling, steady baseline.
"There is no room for sentiment in an acquisition, Mr. Clément," she says, her tone sharp and corporate. "In this room, only numbers, rules, and regulations exist. Do not mistake this for a favor. Don't think I did this because your father was close to mine. I stepped in for one reason only: your distress made your shares incredibly cheap, and I see a massive profit in your restructuring."
Mr. Clément doesn't look offended. Instead, a gentle, sad smile touches his lips. He knows her well enough to read between her icy lines. He recognizes the armor she wears to protect herself.
But then, his smile fades, replaced by a sudden, tense gravity. He leans across the table, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "Have you... found out anything about Susan yet?"
The moment the name "Susan" leaves his mouth, the temperature in the room plummets to zero. Siwon's posture lock. Her eyes darken into a dangerous, pitch-black abyss. For a long, agonizing moment, the silence between them stretches so tight it feels ready to snap. The air becomes suffocating.
Then, with a slow, rigid movement, she gives a single, cold shake of her head. No. Nothing yet.
Realizing he has stepped onto an incredibly dangerous landmine, Mr. Clément quickly backs off, his hands rising slightly. "Right... of course. Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked. So... what is your next destination? Back to Rome or Milan?"
Without a word, Siwon picks up her dark glasses from the table and slips them back over her eyes, instantly shutting him out behind the black lenses. She gives a curt nod.
"Beijing," she says, her voice clinical and detached. "An urgent matter requires my presence there."
Mr. Clément blinks, a flash of confusion crossing his face. "Beijing? But your secretary's brief mentioned you were flying to Korea tonight to personally oversee the launch of Valkyrie's new branch headquarters in Seoul?"
"The plans changed," Siwon replies shortly, her tone leaving absolutely no room for further questions. "A priority has arisen in China. The Seoul headquarters can wait a few more days."
Mr. Clément bows his head respectfully, recognizing the dismissal. "Understood. Safe travels, Frances. Take care of yourself."
Turning on her heel, Siwon walks out of the conference room. As the doors part, her signature, chilling aura returns in full force. Her secretary and primary bodyguard immediately fall into step, flanking her like a human shield as they move through the private back corridors of the hotel.
Avoiding the front lobby where the media is still held at bay, they slip out seamlessly through the Ritz's private, secure rear exit.
The crisp evening air hits her face as she steps directly into the waiting Maybach. She doesn't look back at the palace behind her. The door clicks shut, sealing her inside the quiet luxury of the vehicle.
Within moments, the sleek black car melts into the fast-moving Parisian traffic, leaving Place Vendôme in the dust as she sets her sights on her next target—BEIJING.