Morning in the Kang estate unfurled with the quiet discipline of a temple — white marble floors gleamed beneath sunlight, orchids floated in crystal vases, and the staff moved with reverent silence, like monks in designer uniforms.
In the master suite, however, nothing was silent.
Soo-Ah groaned into the silk pillows, face half-buried, body limp and aching in places she hadn't felt in years.
Her legs refused to move.
Her hips burned with a delicious soreness that made her flush just thinking about it. Every breath stretched across ribcage and muscle in a way that reminded her of the night — and morning — before.
"God," she muttered into the pillow. "That man is not human."
She heard the faint rustle of fabric and turned her head to see Dae-Hyun, already dressed in his sharp black bespoke suit, pulling on the final cufflink with methodical elegance. His sculpted frame filled the room with presence. The tailored blazer hugged his narrow waist and wide shoulders like it was stitched onto his skin. His tie was a thin, obsidian silk. His shoes? Polished until they shone like water.
He looked like a ghost made of steel and fire.
"Are you okay?" he asked, checking his watch. "Do you need anything?"
"Yeah," she muttered. "New legs. A wheelchair. Maybe an exorcist."
He almost smiled. "You started it, Soo-Ah."
"I didn't ask to get destroyed," she shot back, pouting slightly as she sat up, wincing. "You're built like a machine now. It's unfair."
"Next time," he said smoothly, adjusting his collar, "you can tie me down."
She flushed. "Don't tempt me."
He glanced over, and something flickered in his gaze — that rare, precious mischief that used to dominate his eyes before grief hollowed him out.
Then, in an instant, the mask slid back on.
"I'll be at the KGI Tower most of the day. Global meetings. The usual."
She nodded. "I know. Go. Conquer the world."
He walked over, leaned down, and kissed her forehead — gentle, reverent. But just as he was about to pull away, she caught his tie.
"Hey," she said, voice soft but purposeful.
He looked back.
"I've been thinking."
His brow lifted.
"I want to be a socialite again."
A pause.
He blinked, slowly. "Socialite?"
She smiled, tilting her head as she released his tie. "You know — the glamorous life. Events, galleries, parties, galas. Drinking champagne on yachts and making the tabloids nervous."
He straightened up, unreadable. "Why?"
"Because I need something of my own again," she said simply. "You've taken over the empire. And don't get me wrong — it's yours now. Rightfully. I saw the reports. You've been a goddamn genius with the shares. No one in either family can touch you."
He stayed silent.
She stood — slowly, legs trembling a little — and walked toward the closet, slipping into a silk robe. She looked back at him over her shoulder.
"I'm not the chairwoman anymore. I've been asleep for a year. The world has changed. You've changed."
"And so you want to drink and dance with billionaires?"
Her eyes twinkled with challenge. "Why not?"
Something cold flickered behind his gaze. "You think I won't mind other men looking at you like that?"
"Let them look." She walked closer, standing barely a foot from him. "You already have everything. Every inch of this country's financial lungs breathes through you. Can't I have a little fun?"
He tilted his head, studying her.
"No."
She blinked.
"I don't like the idea of other men thinking they can touch what's mine."
Her breath caught. His voice hadn't risen. It was quiet, ice over a slow burn. But the intensity in his eyes — that terrifying, obsidian thing he'd become — flashed just below the surface.
She laughed once, breathless. "Are you seriously jealous?"
"I'm territorial," he corrected calmly. "There's a difference."
"Dae-Hyun…"
He stepped closer, closing the space between them with the slow inevitability of gravity. One hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.
"Do whatever you want, Soo-Ah," he whispered. "Be the queen of the tabloids if it makes you happy. But if any man lays a finger on you…"
His eyes sharpened, almost fondly cruel.
"I'll remove the finger."
She stared at him — a little stunned, a little thrilled. Her heart pounded, though she wouldn't admit it.
"That's psychotic," she murmured.
"I told you," he said with a ghost of a smile. "You married a madman."
And with that, he kissed her on the lips — quick, possessive — and turned to leave.
At the door, he paused.
"You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said quietly. "And no party in the world will ever distract me from that."
Then he was gone.
Left in the echo of his words, Soo-Ah turned back to the bedroom. She stood in the middle of the silence, robe fluttering gently, heart hammering in her chest.
She'd touched the edge of something sharp — not violence, not exactly. But power. The kind that obsessed. The kind that watched and waited. And yet, somehow… she wasn't afraid.
She felt alive.
And as she turned to pick out a dress — something sleek, dazzling, meant for a champagne brunch or art exhibition — she realized something deeper:
If Dae-Hyun had built an empire in her absence…
Then she would build a kingdom of eyes.
And make the world remember what it meant to see Han Soo-Ah — not the coma patient.
But the storm in silk.