Ashes & Lies

"Breaking news: A devastating fire has consumed the Han estate overnight, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Authorities confirm that multiple bodies have been recovered, charred beyond recognition. The identity of the victims remains undisclosed as forensic teams work to determine the cause of the fire and potential foul play."

The crisp voice of the news anchor echoed through the dimly lit room, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Minister Han Tae-Won has not been seen or heard from since last evening. Officials are launching an extensive search to locate him, but sources indicate that he may have left the country before the incident. Speculation is mounting, with law enforcement now treating this as a case of both arson and possible homicide."

Kang Minjae leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping slowly against the glass of whiskey in his hand. A satisfied smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

Perfect.

They were chasing a ghost.

The Minister was gone. Vanished.

And the daughter?

Not even mentioned.

He exhaled, watching the flickering blue glow of the television screen cast shadows across the polished surface of his desk. They were grasping at nothing.

"As investigations continue, authorities have yet to identify a primary suspect, but sources suggest that—"

Kang Minjae muted the TV with a flick of his wrist, exhaling sharply through his nose.

They could speculate all they wanted. It wouldn't change the fact:

Han Tae-Won was a coward who fled before the flames even touched his doorstep.

His daughter was right where he wanted her.

Safe. Secure. Bound in silk and gold inside his world.

She had no idea what had happened that night.

No idea that her home had been reduced to ash.

And why would she?

She was here.

Tucked away in his bed.

His.

Kang Minjae swirled the whiskey in his glass, his gaze drifting to the closed door across the room.

She had stopped crying.

Stopped screaming.

Stopped fighting.

For now.

And fuck, wasn't that a beautiful thing?

The game had only just begun.

And the world?

The world didn't even know they had already lost.

The truth is…Kang Minjae had always been practical.

He wasn't a man who acted on impulse.

He wasn't reckless. He wasn't careless.

And most importantly—he never lost.

There wasn't a politician, a rival, a scumbag loan shark, or a whore who could outmaneuver him.

He was always a step ahead.

That's why he was still standing.

That's why, at thirty-two, he controlled everything.

Power. Money. Influence.

He had the face of a king and the mind of a devil.

And now?

Now he had Han Tae-Won's daughter.

That old bastard should've known better.

Minjae exhaled, tossing back the last sip of whiskey, the burn sliding down his throat like an old friend.

He had been too lenient.

Too patient.

The Minister had been warned again and again.

'Pay your debts. Stay in line. Do not forget who owns you.'

But the fool had gambled with the wrong man.

And now?

Now his home was nothing but smoke and ruin.

Now his men were rotting in the ashes of a war they never stood a chance of winning.

And now his precious daughter belonged to him.

Kang smiled. It wasn't a kind smile.

It was the kind of smile that sent men to their knees, that made enemies rethink their choices, that made women shiver with both fear and something else entirely.

Because Kang Minjae wasn't just a CEO.

To the world, he was the brilliant, untouchable heir to Kang Financial Group, a banking empire with global reach.

A businessman. A philanthropist. A symbol of power in tailored suits and expensive watches.

But behind closed doors?

Behind closed doors, he was the real king of Korea.

The one every politician feared.

The one every crime boss answered to.

The one who could erase a man from existence with just a nod.

There were two kinds of people in his world.

Those who obeyed.

And those who died.

Han Tae-Won had chosen the latter.

And his daughter?

She would learn that obedience was the only option left.

Minjae ran a slow hand through his hair, rolling his shoulders. The room was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

The news would continue to spread.

The government would make a statement.

The police would pretend to investigate.

But no one would ask about the daughter.

No one would wonder where she was.

Because deep down, they already knew.

She was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Where she belonged.

The corners of his lips twitched as he let his gaze drift toward the closed bedroom door across the room.

His newest possession was sleeping.

Or maybe she was awake.

Maybe she was lying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her father, about the fire, about the fact that her world had collapsed in a single night.

Maybe she was praying for a way out.

A useless, pathetic effort.

Because the door was locked.

Because the house was guarded.

Because Kang Minjae never let go of what was his.

And Han Yeijin was his.

Whether she accepted it yet or not.

He let out a slow breath, rolling his wrist, glancing at the time.

Dawn was coming.

And when the sun rose—so would she.

༺♰༻

The scent of burning tobacco lingered in the dim office, thick and slow like a lazy ghost curling through the air. Kang Minjae took a long drag from his cigar, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling in a measured breath.

The city lights outside his floor-to-ceiling windows blurred against the rain-streaked glass, casting neon reflections onto the polished wood of his desk.

Seoul was awake, restless, hungry.

Just like him.

A soft knock at the door. No hesitation, no request for permission—just a heavy push as the door swung open.

Joon stepped inside, the glow of the hallway briefly outlining his imposing silhouette.

A colossus of a man, all brute strength wrapped in tailored black. His head was shaved, smooth under the dim light, his sharp features partially obscured by the ever-present sunglasses.

A silent enforcer.

A shadow carved from flesh and steel.

He shut the door behind him, the lock clicking into place.

Minjae didn't look up, just continued tapping ash into the tray beside him.

"Talk."

Joon stepped forward, hands clasped in front of him. His voice was deep, smooth, but weighted.

"They've filled the Minister's seat."

Minjae hummed, tilting his head slightly.

Not unexpected.

Politics, after all, was just another arm of the underworld.

Someone always had to sit on the throne.

"Who?"

Joon slid a file onto the desk. A name. A face.

Minjae finally glanced down, flicking the folder open with one hand.

Seo Dongwook.

His smirk was slow, cruel.

"Of course it's that rat."

Seo had been circling the position for years, waiting for Han Tae-Won to fuck up. Minjae knew the type—men who didn't build their empires, but scavenged the remains of others.

It didn't matter. He would fall in line.

They all did.

Minjae leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other.

"And the Minister?"

Joon adjusted his stance.

"Still tracking him. He's somewhere in the West, but nothing concrete yet."

Minjae chuckled, taking another slow drag from his cigar before stubbing it out with deliberate pressure.

"Let him run."

Joon nodded, silent understanding passing between them. There was no rush.

Hunting was best when the prey thought they were safe.

The smoke curled around Minjae's face, catching in the angles of his sharp jawline, dancing over the arrogant curve of his lips.

He was, at a glance, the kind of man people never forgot.

Every feature was chiseled, sculpted with precision—the kind of beauty that wasn't delicate, but lethal. Cold, calculated perfection.

Dark hair, sleek and controlled, always perfectly styled. Not a strand out of place.

His eyes—ruthless, unreadable, the color of molten bronze under the right light. They held no warmth, no hesitation, only calculation. The gaze of a man who never needed to raise his voice to own the room.

And his mouth?

Dangerous.

A smirk that could seduce or destroy—and usually did both.

He was tall, broad-shouldered but effortlessly elegant. A man who looked as good breaking someone's jaw as he did signing billion-dollar contracts.

Even now, dressed in nothing but a crisp white shirt, his black tie loosened at the collar, he exuded raw, unapologetic power.

No man was his equal.

And he made sure everyone knew it.

Minjae tapped a slow rhythm against the desk, his voice casual.

"And our little dove?"

Joon barely shifted. "Sleeping. Restless."

A hum of approval.

Good.

She should be restless.

Because soon?

She wouldn't be sleeping at all.

Joon adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, voice as steady as ever.

"You want me to kill her once she talks?"

Minjae didn't answer immediately.

He leaned back, pressing his fingers together in quiet thought, his expression unreadable.

Kill her?

Maybe.

Maybe that was the logical decision.

She was, after all, just a tool.

A bargaining chip.

A body to be used, discarded, and forgotten once she outlived her usefulness.

That had been the plan from the beginning.

Yet—he hadn't killed her yet, had he?

She should have been dead the moment he had her delicate wrists bound, the moment she had first dared to defy him, the moment she looked at him with those wide, terrified eyes and still tried to resist.

But she wasn't.

She was still here.

Still breathing.

And he was still looking at her.

Still intrigued by her.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he exhaled, voice low and thoughtful.

"No rush, Joon." His fingers tapped against the desk, slow, calculated. "She's… interesting."

Joon's expression didn't change, but Minjae knew his second-in-command better than anyone. He didn't need to say it aloud for Minjae to know exactly what he was thinking.

Don't get distracted. Don't get attached.

Minjae had always been disciplined. Ruthless. Cold. A man who never let pleasure interfere with business.

But Yeijin Han?

She was something else.

And she was right there.

So why waste a perfectly good gift?

After all, her father had left her behind.

Left her to him.

It would be a shame not to enjoy her.

She looked fragile.

Too fragile for a world like his.

Her hair cascaded in endless waves, thick and wild, a tangled mess of soft curls that looked too damn inviting, too tempting to wrap around his fingers and use to tilt her head back.

She was all smooth porcelain skin, soft lips, delicate wrists—a doll carved by the gods themselves.

Too soft for him.

Too soft for this life.

And yet, the most dangerous part?

She wasn't just beautiful.

She was stunning.

The kind of woman who turned heads without meaning to.

The kind of beauty that didn't just seduce—it ruined.

She shouldn't have belonged to that filthy bastard Han.

The Minister was a man who fucked anything that walked. A man who kept mistresses in every city, who indulged in excess like it was his right, who threw money at women and forgot their names the next morning.

So how the fuck had someone like Yeijin Han come from him?

Minjae's lips curled in dark amusement, his eyes trailing in his mind the delicate line of her neck, the way her breath stuttered in her sleep.

How had a man so disgusting created something so… pure?

What a waste.

But it wasn't a waste anymore, was it?

Because she was his now.

Not Han's. Not the Minister's.

His.

And the best part?

She didn't even know it yet.

He let his fingers slide along the edge of the desk, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

How much could she endure before she broke?

Would she cry? Scream? Beg?

Or would she do what she had been doing since the moment he took her—fight?

The thought stirred something deep inside him.

She wasn't just beautiful.

She was a challenge.

And Kang Minjae loved a challenge.

Joon shifted, his quiet patience thinning.

"So? What do we do with her?"

Minjae smirked, pushing himself to his feet, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with lazy precision.

"For now?"

His voice was smooth, almost amused.

"We let her think she still has a choice."

Joon didn't react, but Minjae could feel the disapproval in the silence that followed.

It didn't matter.

Because at the end of the day, this wasn't business.

This was pleasure.

And Minjae always got what he wanted.