Chapter 27

By the time Rae-a returned to the safehouse, the weight of the night pressed heavily upon her. Hyun-ju sat on the worn-out couch, her posture tense, her expression expectant but unreadable. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. So Rae-a told her everything.

She laid bare the truth of her past—the man who had raised her not as a daughter, but as a weapon. She detailed the identities of the men who had come after her, their purpose, their orders. And then, she spoke of Kang Chul-soo. Not just the name, but the force he embodied, the power he wielded, and the reason he would never stop hunting her. Always watching. Always waiting.

Hyun-ju listened in silence, her face unreadable at first. But Rae-a caught the small tells—the slight twitch of her fingers, the tightening of her jaw, the way her breath hitched ever so slightly. When the story came to an end, Hyun-ju exhaled slowly, running a hand over her face. "Jesus Christ, Rae-a."

Now, the apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of an old wall clock, marking time like a slow, steady heartbeat. Hyun-ju had gone to bed, but Rae-a remained sprawled on the sofa, staring at the cracked ceiling above. Sleep eluded her. Her mind churned with relentless thoughts, dissecting every detail of the night, every fragment of her past, and the looming specter of the future.

Chul-soo would never stop. The realization settled deep in her bones, cold and immovable. She had severed ties. She had tried to disappear. Yet he remained, an ever-present shadow, closing in like an inevitable storm.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of the couch. Running had proven useless. No matter how many of his men she took down, he would send more. He would tighten the noose, inch by inch, until there was nowhere left to go.

She thought back to her conversation with Hyun-ju earlier.

"I need to take him out." Her voice had been quiet but unwavering, an admission spoken into existence without hesitation.

Hyun-ju had leaned forward, arms crossed, skepticism burning in her gaze. "That's a suicide mission."

Rae-a had met her eyes with a humorless smile. "Not if I do it right."

Hyun-ju's frown deepened. "Do you even hear yourself? This isn't just some hit. This is Kang Chul-soo. He's the most untouchable man in the underground."

"And yet, he still wants me dead," Rae-a had countered, her voice eerily steady. "I've spent my whole life in his shadow, Hyun-ju. I know how he thinks. I know how he moves. And I know that as long as he's alive, I will never be free. It has just taken me this long to truly accept that."

Hyun-ju had studied her for a long moment before shaking her head, frustration evident in the tension across her shoulders. "So what? You just walk into his world again and hope you get close enough to kill him? You think he'll just let you?"

"No," Rae-a had admitted. "Which is why I'm not walking in blind. I need to get back inside his network, find the cracks, the weaknesses. I need to be smart about this."

Hyun-ju had exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. "You're insane."

"Maybe," Rae-a had murmured. "But this isn't just about me anymore."

And it wasn't.

That was what gnawed at her most. Chul-soo never just targeted a single person. He understood leverage. He made examples out of those who got in his way. It wasn't enough to hunt her down—if he had access to all the city cameras, it was possible that he could find out when she went to the police station. And if he found out her purpose for being there, then it gave him more leverage over her.

She would never forgive herself for what happened to her friends. But if something was to happen to their families too? She didn't even want to imagine. Chul-soo was a master at manipulation, a sadist who delighted in forcing people to their breaking point before crushing them entirely. He wouldn't simply harm them—he would use them, parade their suffering in front of her, dangle their lives like bait to force her hand. Perhaps he'd send her a message: a video of one of their family members bound and bloodied, pleading for help. Perhaps he'd leave her a choice—turn herself in, or watch as they suffered, one by one. Chul-soo didn't believe in idle threats. If he wanted to drag her back into his grasp, he would use every cruel trick he had at his disposal. And Rae-a knew, without a doubt, that he would never stop until he had her exactly where he wanted her.

That was the part that burned with cold fury.

She could withstand the threats against herself. She had learned to endure pain, to take the brunt of the world's cruelty without flinching. But this—this was different.

Dragging Hyun-ju into this? That had been In-ho's doing. His interference had shattered whatever fragile boundary remained between her personal war and the people she wanted to protect. He had woven his influence into her fight, turning it into something larger, something far more dangerous. He should have left Hyun-ju out of this. Instead, he had tangled her in the crossfire, and now, there was no undoing it.

Rae-a exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers against her temple. She could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on her, coiling around her ribs like a vice.

She had two priorities now.

Find the families of her fallen friends. And destroy Kang Chul-soo.

The two goals had become inseparable, as much as she hated to admit it. As long as Chul-soo lived, anyone remotely connected to her would always be in danger. If he discovered her search for them, he wouldn't just use it against her—he would turn it into a spectacle. That was his way. His cruelty never stopped at the surface. He broke people piece by piece, dangling hope just out of reach before tearing it away. And if he got his hands on their families? There would be no mercy.

Chul-soo would make examples of them. He would send gruesome messages—fingers in a box, a bloodied piece of clothing, the kind of warnings that left no room for doubt. He would force Rae-a to watch, to listen, until she had no choice but to surrender herself. Not for her own sake, but for theirs. Because that was his greatest weapon—forcing people to destroy themselves for the ones they loved.

She wouldn't let it come to that.

Her gaze flickered to the window, where the dim glow of streetlights barely cut through the heavy darkness. Somewhere out there, Chul-soo's men were already looking for her. And somewhere, In-ho was watching, waiting, anticipating her next move.

A bitter smile ghosted her lips.

They could wait all they wanted.

Because she had already decided what came next.

Sleep finally crept in—not as a comfort, but as a slow descent into exhaustion, pulling her under like an unforgiving tide.

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Rae-a awoke to the muted gray light filtering through the broken blinds, the dim glow casting long, jagged shadows along the peeling walls. For a few fleeting seconds, her body remained still, her mind caught between sleep and wakefulness. Then the memories of the previous night came rushing back. The safehouse. Hyun-ju. Chul-soo's men. And the undeniable truth that there was no more running.

With a low sigh, she sat up, stretching out the stiffness in her limbs before pushing herself to her feet. Across the room, Hyun-ju was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the worn-out couch, scrolling through something on a burner phone. Her sharp eyes flicked up the moment Rae-a moved.

"You sleep?" Hyun-ju asked, tone casual but edged with something pointed.

Rae-a rolled her shoulders. "Enough."

Hyun-ju snorted. "Right."

Ignoring her skepticism, Rae-a ran a hand through her hair and turned toward the small table cluttered with maps, notes, and a few scattered photos of their enemies. She planted both hands on the surface, eyes scanning over the information they had so far. It wasn't enough, and it seemed that Chul-soo had caught on to the fact that Rae-a was using her old information to make connections to avoid them, leading to this predicament of being caught out so many times recently.

"We need more intel," Rae-a said, already formulating a plan in her mind. "I'll go out and see what I can find."

Hyun-ju's head snapped up. "You mean we'll go out."

Rae-a frowned. "No, I need you to stay here."

Hyun-ju scoffed, swinging her legs off the couch and standing up. "Yeah, that's not happening."

Rae-a's gaze hardened. "It's safer—"

"Two sets of ears are better than one," Hyun-ju interrupted, crossing her arms. "Not to mention, I can handle myself. Or did you forget last night already?"

Rae-a opened her mouth, then closed it. She couldn't deny that. The fight had proven Hyun-ju was more than capable—quick reflexes, sharp instincts, no hesitation. She had handled herself better than most people Rae-a had worked with. But still...

"This isn't a game, Hyun-ju."

"Do I look like I'm playing?" Hyun-ju shot back. "You're not the only one with a target on your back anymore. If Chul-soo knows I'm involved, then hiding won't save me. I might as well make myself useful."

Rae-a let out a slow breath, irritation curling in her chest—not at Hyun-ju, but at the situation itself. She hated this. Hated that more people were being dragged into the mess she had spent years trying to escape. But Hyun-ju wasn't wrong. And Rae-a wasn't arrogant enough to reject an extra pair of hands just because she wanted to shoulder this alone.

She grumbled, rubbing a hand over her face before muttering, "Fine. But you follow my lead."

Hyun-ju smirked. "Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise."

Rae-a shot her a flat look before grabbing her jacket and checking the gun strapped to her side. "We move carefully. We blend in. And if anything feels off, we get out. Understood?"

Hyun-ju gave a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Rae-a sighed but didn't argue. Instead, she opened the door, glancing both ways before stepping out into the cool morning air. The city was waking up around them, the streets still relatively quiet, but Rae-a knew better than to let her guard down. Danger never slept in places like this.

Hyun-ju fell into step beside her, sharp-eyed and alert.

"Where to first?" she asked.

Rae-a's jaw tightened as she surveyed the city before them. "We start where the whispers are loudest. And we listen. We also split up."

--

The city never slept, but it had its quiet moments—brief lulls where the shadows stretched longer, and whispers carried farther. Rae-a moved through them like she belonged, weaving between alleyways and backstreets, her eyes constantly scanning, her ears tuned to the murmurs of the underground.

She wasn't sure what she was looking for. Just that something was happening.

Her instincts told her Kang Chul-soo wouldn't sit idle for long. His reach extended too far, his paranoia ran too deep. He had power, and power demanded maintenance—alliances, gatherings, and the kind of meetings where silence was bought with blood.

She needed a thread to pull.

And the first thing to do was use the information she already had.

She started where the wealthy and reckless gathered—a private gambling den hidden beneath a failing tailor's shop. This place was regularly used by Chul-soo's business partners, so she was sure she could find something of use there. The scent of old cologne and expensive liquor filled the air, the sound of cards shuffling and dice rolling barely masking the low hum of conversation.

She didn't stand out here, not when fortunes were being lost and won in the span of a single breath. She took her time, circling the room, pretending to linger near the bar. The trick was never to seem like you were listening—never let your attention linger too long.

At a corner table, a group of men leaned in close, their voices just above a whisper.

"...tightening security. No one's getting in without an invitation."

"Paranoid bastard," another muttered. "It's a party, not a war council."

Party? Rae-a didn't react, didn't slow her movements as she subtly adjusted her position to catch more.

A third man snorted. "You think he'd risk an open gathering if he didn't have a reason? Every name on that list is either leverage or an asset. This is about control."

The first man scoffed. "It's always about control."

She didn't wait to hear more. She had what she needed—confirmation that something was happening, something exclusive. And if Chul-soo was involved, it wasn't just a party.

It was a power move.

She left without drawing attention, stepping back into the cold night air.

A club came next. The kind you couldn't just walk into. She had to drop a name to get past the bouncer—an old contact, long dead, but useful for moments like this.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavier. Deals weren't just being made here; they were being sealed. The drinks were more expensive, the conversations more dangerous.

She took a seat near the bar, listening without looking like she was listening.

"...the guest list's a nightmare. Even the waitstaff is being vetted."

"We'll be fine."

"You don't get it. It's not like before—this isn't some underground casino opening. It's a statement."

A pause. Then, quieter—more careful:

"The masquerade is different."

Masquerade.

Rae-a kept her expression neutral, but her pulse picked up. That was what she needed.

The real information would be harder to find—spoken in confidence, behind locked doors. 

She had to get closer.

She followed a small group of well-dressed men as they left the club, keeping to the shadows as they slipped into a hidden lounge behind a cigar shop. This was a place for the real elite—the untouchable, the ones who whispered and the world listened.

Getting in was easy. She lifted a tray from a distracted server at the entrance, straightened her posture, and walked inside like she belonged.

The room was thick with the scent of tobacco and aged whiskey. Gold-lined cigars smoldered in crystal ashtrays. Conversations were low, careful, but money made people arrogant.

She moved between tables, silent but attentive.

"If you're important enough, you already know the address," a man drawled, tipping his glass back lazily. "If not... well, that's what the engraving is for."

Across the table, a woman shot him a sharp look. "Not here."

But Rae-a had already memorized the words. The engraving.

She had enough. Now, she just needed proof.

Outside, the streets were slick with rain, neon lights reflecting off the pavement. She stayed near the entrance, watching, waiting.

It didn't take long.

One of the men from inside stumbled out, his coat half-buttoned, his movements clumsy. He reeked of expensive liquor, barely able to focus as he fumbled with his keys.

Something slipped from his grasp—a thick, ornate envelope, catching the light as it tumbled to the ground. He didn't notice.

By the time he collapsed into the back of a waiting taxi, Rae-a had already pocketed the invitation and disappeared into the dark.

Back at the safehouse, she and Hyun-ju examined the invitation under the dim glow of a bedside lamp. The card was high-quality, embossed with silver lettering that bore no mention of a location—only the cryptic phrase: "By invitation only. Veiled in secrecy, bound by influence. A night where masks conceal more than faces."

Hyun-ju traced the filigree patterns with her fingertips. "This isn't just decoration."

Rae-a tilted the card at an angle, watching as the engravings caught the light. "No, it's too deliberate. There's something else here."

She exhaled lightly over the surface, and just as she suspected, a faint ink pattern flickered into view before fading once more.

Hyun-ju's eyes widened. "Heat-sensitive ink."

Rae-a grabbed her pocket lighter, running the flame just close enough to reveal a set of faintly embossed numbers and unfamiliar symbols. The ink resurfaced in fractured lines—a cipher waiting to be solved.

"Coordinates," Rae-a muttered, quickly jotting them down. "But incomplete."

Hyun-ju frowned. "And these symbols... some look like Hangul, but the others—Latin, maybe?"

They spread a worn map across the table, Rae-a marking locations known for hosting high-profile underground gatherings. The coordinates, though partial, intersected with a handful of possible sites.

"I've seen this pattern before." Rae-a tapped one of the symbols. "Chul-soo's network used a system to mark meeting points. This one matches an emblem I've seen tied to an elite business group."

Hyun-ju's brow furrowed in concentration. "They own that estate on the outskirts of the city, don't they? I have heard this mentioned before. "

Rae-a's gaze darkened. "They do."

To confirm their theory, Hyun-ju retrieved a stolen shipment record, flipping through pages of deliveries. She passed it wordlessly onto Rae-a who quickly took it. Her fingers stopped on an entry: an unusual bulk order of luxury wine, catering services, and imported decor—sent directly to the estate.

"That's it." Rae-a leaned back, exhaling. "The masquerade ball is happening there."

Hyun-ju smirked. "Not bad."

Rae-a glanced back at the invitation. Near the bottom, just barely visible within the filigree, was a small etched symbol—a mask. The final piece of confirmation.

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Rae-a sat on the edge of a worn-out table, turning the ornate invitation over in her fingers. The wax seal had been broken hours ago, but the weight of it still felt dangerous. The embossed gold lettering reflected the dim light of the safe house, the words etched in a language of power and exclusivity. She had what she needed to get inside. Now, she just had to make it work.

Hyun-ju stood by the boarded-up window, arms crossed, skepticism written all over her face. "And how exactly do you plan to waltz into a high-security event meant for criminals who'd kill you on sight?"

Rae-a smirked, slipping the invitation into the pocket of her jacket. "The same way I've survived this long—by becoming someone else."

Hyun-ju scoffed, shaking her head. "That's not a plan, that's a death wish."

"Then it's a good thing I'm good at those." Rae-a pushed off the table, stretching out the stiffness in her limbs. "The guest list is tight, but I'm willing to bet not everyone attending is as well-known as Kang Chul-soo and his lapdogs. If I find the right person—someone important enough to have an invitation but unimportant enough to go unnoticed if they disappear for a night—then I have my way in."

Hyun-ju exhaled through her nose, frustrated. "This isn't like slipping into some underground poker den, Rae-a. This is their world. The second someone recognizes you, you're dead."

Rae-a tilted her head. "Then I guess I better make sure no one recognizes me."

"And for the record, this is the world I grew up in too."

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Finding the right target wasn't as easy as lifting a wallet off a drunken aristocrat. The masquerade was exclusive, and its guests weren't the type to stagger into back alleys where she could corner them. Rae-a needed a mark—someone wealthy enough to have an invitation, careless enough to let their guard down, and preferably close to her in stature.

She watched the city for patterns. A woman with a taste for luxury, leaving a high-end tailor with a custom gown. A man, who she recognised from before she left the underground, liked to flaunt his wealth in underground lounges, drinking too much and boasting too loudly about his upcoming "private engagement."

It took two days before she found her target: a woman, younger than most of the other guests, the spoiled daughter of a mid-tier arms dealer. She was a recent addition to the social circle, likely invited as a way to test her usefulness. Not only that, but the rest of the family was unable to attend. That meant she was disposable, a perfect choice.

The girl was careless, slipping away from her bodyguards in favor of a more private evening at a luxury hotel, after she refused to attend the ball. Rae-a followed from the rooftops, silent, unseen. When the girl finally stepped onto the private balcony of her suite, sipping expensive champagne and sighing into the city lights, Rae-a made her move.

One swift motion. A hand over the girl's mouth, a careful pressure point at the base of her skull. By the time she crumpled unconscious into Rae-a's arms, it was already over.

The dress fit almost perfectly—a deep red silk gown that clung to her form, the high slit running up to the top of her thigh allowing for both movement and allure. The halter neck dipped into a plunging V, revealing just enough to attract attention while maintaining an air of class. The thin straps left her skin exposed to the cool air, a reminder of how vulnerable yet dangerous this disguise truly was.

She adjusted the mask—black and red, intricate lace patterns carved over porcelain, delicate yet concealing. It felt strange on her face, foreign yet familiar, like all the other identities she had worn before.

She turned to the mirror, tilting her head as she took in the transformation. Her reflection was almost unrecognizable. The deep red silk of the gown traced every curve of her toned body, the result of years of relentless training. The high slit at her thigh and the plunging V-neck were bolder than anything she had ever worn, exuding a confidence she wasn't sure she possessed. Her black, wolfish hair cascaded down in soft waves, a striking contrast against her bare back. A bold red lip completed the look, accentuating the sharpness of her features.

And yet, as foreign as she looked, the faint scars along her arms were a quiet reminder of the life she could never fully shed. Her fingers hesitated before reaching for the long red gloves, pulling them on to conceal the past etched into her skin. Only then did she take a breath, steadying herself.

Not Rae-a. 

Not Phantom.

Just another guest at the masquerade.

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The grand ballroom shimmered with opulence, bathed in golden chandeliers and the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off crystal glassware. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, aged whiskey, and the underlying stench of corruption hidden beneath layers of silk and deceit. Laughter and murmurs filled the space, accompanied by the slow hum of a string quartet playing an elegant yet haunting melody.

Rae-a moved with practiced grace, the layers of her dark red gown flowing effortlessly as she descended the marble staircase. The mask she wore—intricately designed with red filigree—obscured just enough of her face to hide her identity while exuding the presence of someone meant to be there. She was no stranger to disguise, but even so, the weight of her stolen identity—Oh Yoon-ah—pressed against her like an iron chain. One mistake, one misstep, and she would be exposed.

She stepped onto the polished floor, her heels barely making a sound against the marble. Eyes followed her, assessing, calculating. Not with suspicion, but with curiosity. That was good. She was supposed to be here. A lady of status, untouchable. She had memorized the mannerisms years ago, the delicate tilt of the chin, the effortless confidence that women of this world carried. Yet beneath the surface, her pulse thrummed like a war drum.

Gliding past servers carrying trays of champagne, she positioned herself near a cluster of men deep in conversation. Their tailored suits and relaxed stances spoke of wealth, but their words carried the weight of blood and power. She listened, tilting her head slightly as if bored, while her sharp mind recorded every detail.

A man with graying hair and a scar across his cheek chuckled, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Chul-soo's getting impatient. He wants 'Phantom' dead already."

The second man, younger but just as dangerous, smirked. "Can't blame him. She's made him look like a fool too many times. A ghost slipping through his fingers—makes him look weak."

Rae-a fought the urge to react, instead lifting a champagne flute from a passing tray. She brought it to her lips, masking the way her jaw clenched. Good. Let him feel what it's like to be hunted. Part of her was smug, knowing her evasion had rattled him enough that some were beginning to question his grip on power. He deserved to feel paranoid.

She let her gaze drift, feigning idle curiosity as she scanned the opulent room. Every key figure in the underground was present tonight, draped in wealth and secrecy, their masks concealing both their faces and their true intentions. Deals were being struck beneath the guise of pleasantries, alliances whispered over the rim of crystal glasses. Somewhere within this charade, her enemies were weaving their next plot, tightening their hold on power. But if she played her cards right, she would be the one to walk away with the upper hand.

Information was the real currency here, more valuable than money, more dangerous than any weapon. And she was here to take as much of it as she could. If she was careful, if she was patient, she'd leave tonight with more than just scraps—she'd leave with the knowledge she needed to burn them all to the ground.

But her mission tonight was more than just reconnaissance. She had a strategy—one that would dismantle Kang Chul-soo's empire from the inside out. She knew there were two men beneath him who held the foundation of his power: Ryuk Jong-Soo, the enforcer, the brute force behind his operations, and Won Chang-Min, the strategist, the one who handled logistics, money laundering, and the intricate web of Chul-soo's dealings. They were the pillars keeping his empire upright, and if she could shatter them, the whole structure would crumble.

These two had always been kept on a tight leash, their information heavily guarded, their movements restricted to only those Chul-soo trusted implicitly. Finding out their set locations, their safe houses, and their weaknesses would be the first step. Without them, Chul-soo's grasp on power would slip, leaving him exposed, vulnerable.

The thought sent a quiet thrill through her. For decades, he had controlled everything, ensured no one could rise against him. But now, he would feel what it was like to be powerless. She would rip away his foundation piece by piece until he had nothing left.

Taking another sip of champagne, she exhaled slowly, masking her determination behind the graceful poise of her disguise. The game had begun, and she was going to win.

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From across the opulent ballroom, In-ho stood with his usual poise, his expression an unreadable mask even as his mind remained sharp, calculating. Tonight had been an endless cycle of introductions—powerful men eager to discuss his Squid Games, their intrigue laced with greed and bloodlust. They spoke in murmurs of entertainment, of spectacle, of the silent brutality that thrilled the elite. He had listened with polite indifference, extracting only what was necessary, discarding the rest.

But then, something changed.

It was subtle, a shift in the air that sent a ripple through his senses. A pull. An unseen thread yanking his attention toward the far end of the ballroom.

At first, it wasn't recognition that made him pause. It was something more primitive—observation, instinct. A presence. A woman draped in crimson silk, the fabric hugging her form like liquid fire, cascading over every curve with effortless elegance. The dark red gown shimmered beneath the chandelier's glow, catching the light in a way that made her seem almost ethereal, as though the very air around her bent to accommodate her presence.

His breath hitched.

She was beautiful—undeniably, strikingly so—but it was not beauty alone that captured his attention. It was the way she moved.

She walked with practiced grace, weaving through the crowd without hesitation yet never truly stopping, her every step a deliberate choice. The effortless sway of her hips was enough to turn heads—many heads. He wasn't the only one watching. Men took notice as she passed, eyes lingering, whispers exchanged behind half-masked faces. Admiration. Lust. Curiosity.

Yet she never acknowledged them. Not truly.

She was too controlled.

His gaze sharpened on her. 

It was then he noticed the precision in her posture, the way her shoulders remained poised, the way her chin tilted at just the right angle—not in arrogance, but in awareness. She didn't bask in attention. She moved with intent.

Too deliberate. 

Too measured.

A red flag unfurled in the back of his mind.

She never lingered too close to any one group, yet she positioned herself near powerful men, listening without engaging. Never speaking too much, never appearing too eager. Just present enough to blend in, but always... watching.

His eyes trailed down, catching the slightest, almost imperceptible movement.

The way she adjusted her mask—left hand first, index finger grazing the strap. The way she stood—weight subtly shifted onto the balls of her feet, a stance prepared for reaction rather than relaxation. The way she avoided servers, moving through the room with the quiet efficiency of someone gathering information rather than enjoying the festivities.

The acts felt familiar.

A shock of realization hit him like a sudden drop in temperature. His fingers curled, tension coiling beneath his composed exterior.

He knew these mannerisms.

Knew them intimately.

It was her.

Rae-a.

His world, for just a breath, shrank to the space between them. The decadent music, the murmurs of the crowd, the golden glow of wealth and power—it all faded into the background. The masquerade had become a battlefield, and she had just stepped onto the frontlines.

And she didn't even realize he was watching.

A sharp, irritated breath escaped him, masked by the rim of his glass as he took a measured sip. Of course, Rae-a would be reckless enough to walk straight into the lion's den.

He schooled his features into an expression of detached amusement, but beneath the surface, his mind was already working, calculations running at breakneck speed. Why the fuck was she here?

The shock of her presence had already been staggering. But the shock of her transformation? That was something else entirely. He had always found her captivating, but this was different.

Rae-a had never needed embellishments to command a room. Even in the chaos of the Squid Games, covered in blood and sweat, with only determination and fury keeping her standing, she had possessed an undeniable presence, one that enthralled him and captivated his very being. But this—this was a new kind of power.

The gown she wore was sinful, dark red silk clinging to her every movement, an elegant second skin that made it impossible not to look at her. The rich color contrasted against the smooth expanse of her exposed shoulders, the long column of her throat, the ink-dark waves of her hair cascading down her back. The delicate filigree mask did nothing to hide the sharp intelligence in her eyes, nor the quiet storm lurking beneath her poised exterior. 

He found it difficult to avert his eyes.

It unsettled him, this difference. Because this was not the woman he had watched fight tooth and nail to survive. This was someone else—someone who had stepped into a world meant to destroy her, wearing its skin like it belonged to her.

He should have been impressed. Instead, he was conflicted.

But one thing he could not deny, was his fury.

His fingers tightened imperceptibly around the glass as his mind raced through possibilities. Rae-a was many things, but careless was not one of them. She wouldn't be foolish enough to come here for revenge, not yet. She was patient, strategic—she wouldn't strike without a plan.

But that didn't mean she wasn't in danger.

His eyes tracked her every movement as she wove through the crowd, her presence a quiet ripple in a sea of power-hungry men. She wasn't approaching Chul-soo's key figures directly, which meant she was gathering information. She listened more than she spoke, subtly eavesdropping on passing conversations, her gaze flicking over faces, exits, the placement of security. Every movement was purposeful, every step calculated.

In-ho exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain still, to not act on instinct. He should alert security. He should signal one of his men to intervene, to pull her out before she drew too much attention. It would be easy. A whispered command, a single gesture, and this dangerous game she was playing would be over.

But he didn't.

Instead, he watched.

There was something in the way she carried herself—the steady confidence, the defiant fire in her gaze, the silent challenge in the way she navigated this treacherous world as if it didn't terrify her. He had seen her fight, had seen her endure, but never like this. This was control. This was mastery.

A dangerous part of him wanted to see how she would handle this. If she would crumble under the weight of it, or if she would burn even brighter.

So he did nothing, for now.

But watch.

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Rae-a's gaze swept across the grand ballroom, taking in the opulence that masked the corruption beneath. Golden chandeliers cast a warm, flickering glow over the room, their light bouncing off crystal glassware and gilded masks. Conversations layered over one another like a well-rehearsed symphony—soft laughter, murmured deals, the occasional sharp note of a threat wrapped in silk. It was all carefully crafted, a masquerade of power where the right words could buy a fortune—or cost a life.

She adjusted the delicate mask that rested against her skin, a perfect disguise in a sea of deception. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey, but beneath it lurked something far more insidious—the unmistakable stench of ambition and blood.

The music swelled, a haunting melody that threatened to pull her in, to dull her senses. It was a distraction, a carefully placed illusion to keep people from noticing the real game at play. She refused to fall for it.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute as she scanned the room, seeking out her targets. Every key figure in the underground was here tonight. Alliances were being forged, rivalries whispered into existence. And somewhere within this grand charade, her enemies were weaving their next move. If she played this right, she would walk away with the information she needed to burn them all down.

Then, she saw him.

Her breath hitched, the glass in her grip momentarily forgotten.

He stood at ease, the very picture of composed authority. His presence demanded attention without effort—silent, assured, dangerous. he very picture of a man who belonged to this world—a world that had tried to destroy her, a world that had stolen her life and turned it into a game.

His silhouette was too familiar, too perfect.

In-ho.

And beside him—Kang Chul-soo. Her stomach dropped, the floor beneath her seeming to shift as though the world had suddenly tilted on its axis. The weight of her disbelief vanished, consumed by fury. Not disbelief—rage. A fire so raw and unrelenting surged through her veins that it nearly choked her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the material like a lifeline. Every muscle in her body tensed, bracing against the unbearable weight of the realization. How dare he?

After everything—after the lies, the betrayal, the torment—he had the audacity to stand beside the man who had tried to end her life? Who had orchestrated her worst fears? 

Fears that he knew.

Every nerve screamed with the urge to act, to lash out, to strike, but her body remained frozen. If she had a blade in hand, she wasn't sure where it would go—into his chest or her own, anything to stop the hollow ache that was now consuming her.

The fire burned hotter, its intensity almost suffocating. She had always known what In-ho was—calculated, strategic, a master manipulator—but there had been a part of her, a foolish, desperate part, that had believed he was different when it came to her. That he had chosen her. That despite the world he inhabited, despite the cold indifference of his heart, he might be the one to see her as more than just a weapon, more than just a pawn.

The crushing weight of reality slammed into her. She had been a fool. It hit her harder than any blow, sharper than any wound. Her stomach lurched, the bile rising in her throat as the truth carved its way through her chest. Had he ever cared for her?

It was as if the very foundation of her world had crumbled. Every bitter thought, every moment of doubt, now flooded her mind with brutal clarity. Like all the others, she was expendable in the game he played.

The hurt wasn't just physical. It wasn't just the sting of betrayal. It was the shame of having cared enough to feel it. She hated herself for it. She hated that her heart still faltered at the sight of him, that for just a moment, it had skipped a beat, remembering the man she thought she had known. How could I have let myself fall for this?

I should have known. I should have seen it.

But the ache in her chest was too raw, too visceral, to dismiss so easily. No matter how much she hated herself for it, the truth was undeniable.

Her body remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the intensity of the realization. Every instinct screamed at her to turn away, to flee into the shadows and erase him from her mind, but she couldn't. She was trapped in that moment, unable to tear her gaze away. He looked so... comfortable. So at ease. The flickering candlelight caught the sharp angles of his well-defined face, casting shadows that only seemed to deepen his control, his indifference. 

He belonged here.

And the worst part was that he seemed perfectly content to stand next to Chul-soo. No hesitation. No second thoughts. As if nothing had ever happened. As if her suffering, her escape, meant nothing at all.

Her chest tightened painfully. Focus, Rae-a. Focus. But the words barely registered as her world spun out of control. It didn't matter if this wasn't a trap. It didn't matter if there was some hidden purpose behind his presence. What mattered was that he could stand so effortlessly by the man who had sought her destruction, that he could be so casual in the company of the very man who had haunted her nightmares.

There was no escaping the sting of pain. There was no understanding, no reasoning that could make this hurt less. Even if there was an explanation, even if there were some hidden layer to his motives, it didn't matter. The truth was simple: He was standing beside the man who had tried to destroy her, was trying to destroy her, and that fact alone was a knife in her chest.

Her body shook with the weight of the realization. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She had known this was coming, had expected this eventuality, but the raw, jagged edge of it still hit her like a physical blow. She had been a fool. She had believed in him, even after everything. And now, standing here, watching him, the reality of it all settled in.

She could feel the pain in every inch of her being, could feel her very soul cracking under the weight of the truth. And yet, despite all the anger, all the hurt, despite everything screaming at her to run, to escape this nightmare—she was trapped.

Her world had just collapsed, and In-ho, standing there so cold, so composed, was the one who had delivered the final blow. The man she had once thought she knew. The man she had once believed might somehow, somewhere, care for her.

All she could do to dispell the tumultuous emotions was utter out a single line.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

In-ho's eyes flicked over to her then, as if he had sensed her presence the moment she stepped into the room.

She froze, staring at him.

Their gazes locked, a thousand unspoken words passing between them. And then, slowly, deliberately, he raised his glass—mockingly, as though toasting to her very misery. The movement was smooth, almost casual, but there was something in the way he held her gaze. A warning. Silent, but unmistakable.

Shit.

He knew it was her.

His eyes, cold and impenetrable, were fixed on hers as he lifted the glass to his lips. He wasn't just acknowledging her. He was telling her, in the most subtle of ways, to stay quiet. 

Don't do anything reckless.

And just like that, the fire inside her roared to life. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to move, to march up to him and demand answers. To tear away the mask, to find out the truth, to make him pay for the deceit she could already feel settling in her chest like a vice.

But she couldn't blow her cover. Not now. Not here. Not with the entire underground world watching.

Her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides, her nails digging into the delicate fabric of her dress. The pulse in her neck throbbed, her entire being vibrating with the urge to act, to lash out. But she resisted. She had to resist. The stakes were too high.

Instead, she gritted her teeth so hard she thought her jaw might crack. Her body trembled with the effort it took to tear her gaze away from him. She forced herself to look away, to find something—anything else in the room to focus on. But even as she did, she could feel the weight of his presence and gaze, as though it was pressing down on her from all sides.

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The atmosphere in the ballroom was a dizzying blur of extravagant gowns, tailored suits, and whispered conversations. Rae-a's pulse raced as she weaved through the crowd, her every step measured, calculated, as she kept her eyes fixed on In-ho. She had no intention of drawing attention to herself, but her instincts told her to keep moving, to stay ahead of whatever game was being played around her.

And then, as if the air had shifted, something caught her. A presence, a weight in the room. She couldn't pinpoint it at first, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She froze, the sudden tension in her chest sharp and instant.

She had brushed past someone.

Her stomach lurched as her eyes flicked up to meet the man standing just inches from her. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his sharp features framed by the polished sheen of expensive clothing. A high-ranking associate of Kang Chul-soo. A man Rae-a recognized, though she hadn't seen him in years. She didn't need to remember his name to know he was trouble. His reputation preceded him. He had been a part of Chul-soo's inner circle for far too long—dangerous, calculating, a man whose loyalty could never be bought, only earned or coerced.

But what unsettled her was not just the man's presence, but the way he looked at her.

The way his eyes narrowed, a fraction of a second too long.

Something in him stirred—recognition, suspicion. It was subtle, but Rae-a felt it crawl up her spine, like a predator sensing something in the shadows. Her pulse quickened.

"My apologies," she said quickly, her voice softer than usual as she forced a smile, her eyes downcast to avoid any confrontation. She was keenly aware of the tension in the air, the uncomfortable weight of being noticed by someone dangerous. Don't make a scene. Just get through this, she thought, her posture stiffening slightly as she instinctively tried to blend in, hoping he wouldn't register the flicker of recognition in her eyes.

She took a small, deliberate step back, eager to slip past him and fade into the crowd. Just keep moving. Don't give him a reason to question you, she reminded herself, but just as she began to turn, she heard it. His voice, smooth and casual, but with an edge of curiosity that sent a spike of panic through her chest.

He tilted his head slightly, a calculated move, as if he was trying to place her, to remember where he'd seen her before.

Rae-a's breath hitched in her chest, though she smiled politely on the outside. Had he recognized her? The last thing she needed was for him to connect the dots—her posture, the way she carried herself, the familiar tension in her voice when she'd exchanged words with a passing guest. Had she slipped? Was it too much?

Her heart hammered in her chest, but she forced herself to remain calm, trying to quell the rising panic that twisted in her gut. She could feel the weight of his gaze like a hot brand, the seconds stretching into eternity as the man lingered in front of her, his brow furrowing in thought.

Then, with a voice so casual it was almost mocking, he spoke, leaning in just enough to make her feel cornered.

"You look... familiar. Have we met before?"

His voice was smooth, but there was a sharpness to it, an edge beneath the words that made Rae-a's breath catch. Her instincts screamed at her to play it cool, to keep her composure.

But internally, chaos erupted.

She had to think fast. Think, Rae-a, think!

Her mind raced for any possible explanation, any excuse, any diversion. She could feel the heat in her face, the knot of tension tightening in her throat. He's just toying with you, she told herself. He doesn't know. Not yet.

But it didn't matter. The question alone sent her spiraling.

Before Rae-a could even form a response, her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. The air around them felt heavier, suffocating, as though the atmosphere itself had shifted in the space of a single moment. The sudden weight of his presence pressed against her chest, like a force she couldn't resist, despite her best efforts.

"Good evening."

The voice was smooth, cutting through the silence like a blade, and it stirred something deep within her—a mixture of instinctive wariness and something darker, more visceral. She froze.

Her breath got caught, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Her pulse quickened, a familiar ache twisting in her chest. She had prepared herself for everything—every threat, every danger—but not this. Not the sound of his voice, so close, so deliberate. It was impossible to ignore the way his words settled into her bones, a weight she knew all too well. The authority in his tone left no room for doubt. It was as if he had a claim over this world, over them, and his presence in the air wrapped around her, suffocating her with its familiarity.

She wanted to ignore it, to push the feelings aside, to dismiss the ache that was stirring in her chest. She forced her body to remain still, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, though the tension in her limbs threatened to betray her resolve. She swallowed hard, trying to regain control, to tamp down the chaos of emotions he always seemed to stir inside her.

But there was no denying it.

The world around her seemed to warp. Her heart stuttered, a brief, painful reminder of just how much she despised the way he made her feel. It was ridiculous—she couldn't let him have this hold over her, not now, not after everything. But still, the old familiar pull remained, deep and undeniable.

And then, she felt the shift—the subtle change in the air that signaled his movement, his approach. She didn't need to see him to know exactly where he was. Every nerve in her body hummed, every instinct screaming at her to move, to do something, anything. But her feet remained rooted to the ground, her body betraying her, betraying every ounce of control she'd fought so hard to maintain.

Her gaze darted sideways, just for a second, catching the glint of his figure in her peripheral vision. She didn't want to look. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how his presence affected her. But her body was already betraying her, her eyes unwillingly following the invisible thread that tied her to him.

It was then that she saw it—the slight change in the other man's posture, the way his head tilted ever so slightly, his eyes locking onto the approaching figure. The shift was subtle but unmistakable. The cold suspicion in his expression melted away, replaced with something deeper, something almost respectful.

Recognition.

Respect.

And as she watched, a shiver of something dark and dangerous slid down her spine. The way his demeanor changed so effortlessly at In-ho's arrival was unsettling—like a switch had been flipped, and the warmth in his expression, the kind of admiration that hadn't been there before, was reserved only for someone who commanded authority without question.

Her heart lurched, painfully. She didn't know why, but seeing him so willing to acknowledge In-ho's presence with that quiet reverence twisted something inside her—something that made her feel so exposed, so utterly powerless in that moment.

The air was colder now. She could feel the chill in her bones, the coldness that seemed to radiate from him, even as his shift in demeanor cloaked everything in an unnerving calm. He hadn't even said anything to her, and yet his presence seemed to fill the space between them, suffocating her with an unspoken understanding.

In-ho was near, and Rae-a hated herself for it—for the way her heart betrayed her, for the way his proximity made her feel as though she were trapped in an inescapable storm, a storm of emotions she couldn't outrun.

"Ah, Hwang In-ho," the man greeted, his voice suddenly all charm, warmth, and deference. "Pleasure to make your aqquaintance, I have heard so much about you and your Games."

In-ho stepped closer, his calm demeanor unwavering. A knowing smile curled at the corner of his lips, and Rae-a's stomach turned as he offered the man a firm handshake his eyes never once leaving him. He didn't acknowledge Rae-a directly, but she felt his presence shift around her, as though he was keeping her in the periphery of his mind, aware of every movement she made.

Their exchange was smooth, controlled—almost effortless. The man's face lit up with something akin to a brief, genuine pleasure at In-ho's arrival. They exchanged pleasantries, the kind that masked a hundred veiled threats, unspoken power plays. The language of men like them.

In-ho, ever the strategist, slipped a business card into the man's hand, the gesture almost too casual, but the meaning behind it was clear. A business card with his contact details—an invitation to maintain ties, to continue their dealings.

Rae-a stood there, her chest tight with confusion and frustration as she watched the exchange unfold. She was frozen, her mind a jumble of thoughts, but the most prominent was this: What was he really doing here? What part of this twisted charade had he played?

He was playing both sides, it seemed—gracious, calculating, unflappable. The man had already forgotten about her, already turned his attention fully to In-ho.

But Rae-a was left with the sting of uncertainty. Her eyes burned with suspicion, confusion clouding her mind. Why was In-ho here? Why was he so calm?

And more so, why was he helping her if he was aqquainted with Chul-soo?

The moment seemed to stretch on, every second a reminder of the man who stood next to her, his presence unshakable, his suspicion never quite gone.

The air around her felt suffocating, the walls closing in. And though she told herself to stay composed, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the questions that pressed against her chest, suffocating her.

Was there more to the story than he let on?

His hand, swift and deliberate, caught her arm, pulling her effortlessly into his orbit. In-ho. The touch, subtle yet firm, was like an electric current shot up her arm. She barely suppressed a sharp intake of breath, feeling the warmth of his grip spread through her skin like fire seeping into ice. She clenched her jaw to keep from reacting too strongly, but the involuntary tingling sensation lingered, a reminder that, despite everything, his touch still affected her in ways she couldn't control.

They moved as if in perfect unison, though Rae-a's every instinct screamed at her to break free. The illusion they created—one of casual familiarity—was so seamless that any outsider might have thought they were simply heading toward the dance floor. But Rae-a knew better. There was nothing casual about this. Every step was measured, deliberate, like they were walking a dangerous line neither one of them wanted to cross. The tension between them was palpable, a dangerous mix of old heat and icy contempt.

They could both feel the hum of his body next to hers, his presence overwhelming. The air between them crackled, electric, as though the moment they had stepped into this space, everything around them had ceased to exist.

She willed herself to keep walking, to focus on the task at hand, but her thoughts were racing. The nerve of him to show up here, to act as though nothing had happened. She could feel the burn in her chest, an ache that had nothing to do with the physical proximity. It was betrayal, raw and visceral. She barely restrained herself from jerking her arm out of his grasp as they walked toward the drinking parlour.

He led her to a quieter corner, the noise of the ballroom fading into a dull hum behind them. The glass of champagne he handed her was cold, its edges almost sharp against her fingertips. She looked at the glass briefly, then back at him, her eyes flashing with silent fury. She could taste the bitterness in her mouth, more from him than the drink in her hand.

In-ho grabbed another glass, the sharp clink of the glass setting Rae-a's nerves on edge. He didn't immediately speak, but the look he gave her was pointed—frustration and something else flickering in his eyes. A command, no doubt. Her stomach twisted, the weight of his gaze pressing down on her like a vice.

'Leave. Now' his eyes said, and the message was clear.

The words he didn't say echoed in her head, but she didn't move. She couldn't move, not when the sheer force of his presence and her rage was suffocating her.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Inho?"

His breath caught in his throat the moment she spoke his name. It was fierce, yet it carried a weight that pressed against him, suffocating in its significance. Something about the way she said it—so deliberate, so painfully aware—felt like an admission. An acknowledgment of something unfinished, something lingering in the space between them. The sound of it, so raw and close, caught him off guard, and for a fleeting second, his heart seemed to freeze in his chest.

Her gaze never wavered, and in that brief moment, she saw it. A flicker. A subtle shift in his expression—a tightening around his eyes, a twitch in his jaw. Guilt? Regret?

No.

It was longing.

The realization hit her like a sudden gust of wind, leaving her breathless. Her pulse quickened, betraying the calm facade she had tried so desperately to maintain. Her heart hammered in her chest, and it wasn't the fear that had always been there before. It was something else—something far more dangerous.

He noticed it, the way her body reacted. Her breath faltered, her eyes widening ever so slightly at his reaction, and despite the fact he wanted to scold himself for betraying his facade, a flicker of satisfaction passed through him. He enjoyed the expression on her face.

But the mask didn't break. No, he was too controlled, too composed to let her see any more than what he allowed. Yet, as he stepped closer to her, closing the distance with a slow, calculated precision, Rae-a's breath caught in her throat.

The air thickened, charged with the unmistakable tension between them. His proximity consumed her, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. His heat, his presence, enveloped her, and it was intoxicating. He was so close, close enough that she could feel the slight shift of his chest with each measured breath he took.

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing her ear, and the soft whisper that left his mouth was like molten steel. "Keeping you alive. Try not to make it difficult."

The words slid into her skin like a burning caress, a reminder of just how much control he had over her subconsciously. Her body stiffened, and yet, her senses flared, every nerve awakening in response. His breath lingered too long against her ear, a slow, deliberate heat that made her skin prickle, that sent a shudder of warmth spiraling down her spine.

She clenched her jaw, her body betraying her, a tension building inside her she could neither suppress nor understand. Her skin felt too tight, as though the pressure between them was suffocating her, pushing her to the brink. Her heart raced, painfully fast, and the furious ache inside her throbbed with every breath she took. She should push him away, should fight against this all-consuming magnetism between them, but the burning need to retaliate, to match him in this dangerous dance, clawed at her throat.

Every inch of her body screamed to break free, but her legs remained rooted to the spot, caught in the trap of his proximity. The air between them crackled with something raw, something that neither of them could deny, no matter how hard they tried. He didn't move. Neither did she.

How dare he say that?

Rae-a's mind reeled, the fury building in her chest with every passing second. How the fuck is associating with that man helping me? The question echoed, relentlessly pushing against the walls of her control. She had made it this far on her own, surviving by her own strength and decisions—she didn't need him, or anyone else, to shield her from the world. She had always trusted her instincts, and she didn't need In-ho to dictate her choices.

Her breath came faster as the raw, familiar anger curled in her stomach. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, the burn of it rising with each irrationally calm word he spoke. It was infuriating how he acted like she was incapable of seeing through the layers of deception, of assuming she couldn't protect herself. Her pulse hammered in her ears, loud enough to drown out all the rational thoughts trying to break through.

The pull in her chest—the faint, insistent twinge she couldn't ignore, no matter how hard she fought it—wasn't enough to erase the bitterness she felt in the pit of her stomach. Yes, he had done things, kept her alive in his own twisted, twisted way. But his actions were his, made for his own reasons. For my sake? That idea, that small attempt to convince her that he cared about her survival—it felt like an insult. A pathetic excuse for everything he had done up to this point. The thought alone made her teeth grind in frustration.

It wasn't just the words, but the way he said them—like she needed saving, like she was incapable of making her own decisions. And there, at that moment, in the flicker of his gaze, Rae-a saw it—the calm assurance in his expression, the arrogance beneath it, like he was above her, deciding what was best for her. That he had some right to control her path.

Her chest tightened, a cold burn of fury curling up into her throat, threatening to spill out in a tirade she knew would only fuel his already insufferable sense of superiority. Her fingers twitched around the champagne glass in her hand, the cold stem digging into her palm, her knuckles whitening as she fought to hold herself together.

But before she could unleash it all—the words, the anger, the seething frustration—he stepped back. The change was immediate, the space between them growing just enough for Rae-a to feel the icy chill that had always followed him, creeping back into the room. The heat he had left in the air dissipated, replaced with the sharp bite of the cold. It was almost as though he had sensed the eruption within her, and with his swift retreat, he had defused the situation without so much as a flinch.

Their gazes locked for a brief, fiery moment. Fire meeting ice. The sheer intensity of it should have burned her alive. It was a silent battle—unspoken, unresolved. Neither one of them willing to back down, neither one willing to show weakness. Her teeth gritted in frustration as she fought against the pull of his gaze, trying to keep the storm raging inside her under control.

And then, just as suddenly as he had come, he melted back into the crowd, seamlessly, like he had never been there at all.

Rae-a stood frozen, the weight of the last few moments crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her pulse still pounded in her ears, her chest heaving, every inch of her still trembling with the raw, seething fury that he had so expertly provoked. She felt hollow, her breath escaping in shaky bursts as her mind tried to piece together what had just happened. What was that? What was he playing at?

Damn him. The thought roared in her mind, as she gripped the champagne glass harder, the fragile crystal threatening to crack under the intensity of her grip. The anger that had been simmering, threatening to break free, now boiled in her veins, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.