[Note from the Author:]
{Start with the Prologue (in Auxiliary).
It's where the fire begins.}
(TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE STORM)
Location: Seoul International Airport
The buzzing city of Seoul was too invested in its own hustle and bustle.
A seemingly young woman- too mature for her age-emerged through the arrival gate. Every step she took radiated power, the silence before a storm. A flame, quietly stirred, ready to dismantle the city's very structure.
She was a paradox wrapped in silk and steel. She moved with the grace of royalty, yet carried the aura of a brewing storm. Her eyes held secrets deeper than oceans, and her rare, disarming smile was laced with danger.
In a world ruled by cruelty, she was both the blade and the balm.
You'd never see her coming-but once she arrived, the room bent to her will. She wasn't just unforgettable-she was untouchable.
She walked with command toward a stoic man in a suit standing beside a sleek black limo. As she stopped in front of him, he bowed in respect.
"Miss Song, it's an honor to escort you," he said with a subtle bow. His voice was cold, but the submissiveness in his tone was unmistakable-submissiveness to the gorgeous yet dangerous woman before him.
She simply nodded and stepped into the car. The faint scent of leather mingled with air conditioning.
The ride was silent, disturbed only by the occasional gust of wind. The driver didn't dare utter a word, for he knew she was in no mood for insignificant greetings. Her eyes stayed glued to her tablet-perhaps reviewing a schedule. Whether it was legal or illegal, only she knew.
"I'm back. Call an urgent meeting in an hour," she spoke into her phone. Her voice was velvety, her tone laced with authority.
A muffled, "Yes, boss," answered on the other end. She ended the call.
She gazed out the window, watching the now-changed hometown she had left eight years ago. Her calculating gaze swept over the surrounding, taking in Seoul's chaos.
Some were thinking about barely surviving a bit longer. Some relished others' misery. Some worked day and night to fulfill basic needs for their families. Some studied to brighten a dull future. Some simply roamed the congested streets-insignificant to most, yet the whole world to someone waiting at home with open arms. Some were already implementing cunning plans to erase the vulnerable and turn the useful into pawns.
Some use injustice to fight injustice-like her.
She had, on countless occasions, brutally tortured traitors and murdered her rivals without so much as a second glance.
Yet, she was also someone who spent her weekends at the orphanage-not merely donating for appearances, but truly being there. She would play with the children, spend the entire day among them. It was a brief escape from her exhausting triple life-a single day where she could laugh freely. A day where, despite being a monster, she could become a place of comfort for a few innocent souls.
Her composed expression betrayed nothing, yet a deep sense of familiarity stirred inside her. Her grip tightened just slightly around her tablet.
She recalled her childhood-carefree, mischievous, full of laughter. But joy quickly gave way to pain, happy memories swallowed by tragedy.
And she remembered that night. The one that carved her into who she was today.
The most feared and ruthless mafia queen.
Helena, they called her in the shadows. No one knew what she looked like, even her inner circle-her face always hidden behind a mask.
But in the daylight, she was Song Haseul, heir of Song group. The Ice Queen of the legal world. Known not as a spoiled brat, but as a competent, poised, and powerful young woman. She operated, hidden behind her father, the chairman of Song group.
Who would believe that this powerful woman, both in legal and illegal world, was just twenty and still in her second year of university?
She remained as Lee Haseul, the smart, ordinary college student for the world. Not a heir or mob boss.
The limo pulled up to a sleek skyscraper-elegant, modern-owned by Song Group.
Haseul swiftly put on an icy blue mask that covered her face from nose to chin, bearing the emblem of the Song Group-interlocking initials SH encircled by thin metallic rings.
As she entered the lobby, heads turned and instantly bowed. The moment she wore that mask, she was no longer Haseul. She was Ms. Song-the hidden heiress. Her first name remained unknown to the world, a protective measure enforced by her father. One she had no issue with; in fact, she supported it.
She gave a small, polite nod and, without pause, stepped into the private lift, pressing the button for the top floor. Every movement was precise. Calculated.
The elevator mirrors reflected a girl who looked too young to carry such ghosts-but her eyes belonged to someone who'd bled too much, too soon.
Her mind raced with emotions and strategies. Yet as she waited in the lift, her longing for a mother's touch returned, uninvited.
She knew lingering on the past was weakness. Yet... the rage built up again as she remembered that hot summer night-the one that stole her everything. Her mother.
But she hadn't returned to mourn. She had returned to uncover the truth-and avenge it.
She strode down the hallway toward the penthouse. Two bodyguards stood outside the door. It was a valid question whether they were there to protect her-or protect others from her.
No one could see the storm of emotions whirling inside her. She'd trained herself too well to hide them.
As soon as the door closed behind her, the calm, composed facade crumbled in the absence of others. She slumped onto the couch like a deadweight.
"Finally... it feels like home," she murmured.
She drifted into a brief, half-hour power nap, while her middle-aged maid-who had been with her since birth-prepared a mug of hot chocolate. She knew exactly how to comfort her young miss.
She dreamt of her mother singing a lullaby from childhood—her soft, pure voice echoing through sleep like comfort, longing, and bittersweet memory woven into one.
But then came the image of her mother's broken, sorrowful smile. It bled into the dream, her lips still moving, still singing that same lullaby. Flames engulfing her figure.
Beads of sweat gathered on Haseul's forehead.
In the background, a voice from the TV cut through the silence. She had shifted in her sleep, her leg brushing the remote, switching it on without meaning to.
'...the Kim group has launched yet another internationally successful deal. They are almost on the brink of going up the ladder, upper than the Song group...'
Haseul's eyebrows furrowed a bit in her short slumber as she heard it.
The maid who had set the mug of hot chocolate on the teapoy felt her grip tighten around the ceramic. Her eyes-usually warm and gentle-flickered with a sudden, sharp glint of rage.
And soon, still in her slumber, Haseul's mother's soft, feminine voice began to shift-merging, then morphing-into the desperate, high-pitched cries of a young boy pleading, 'Noona.'
Unknowingly, Haseul dreamed of that voice-a little boy's frantic call, fragile and urgent, echoing 'Noona' again and again.
The word Kim subconsciously pulling her into a memory.
A voice echoing from a memory ten years buried.