Chapter 11

"Shut up," Sanghyun said coldly.

Sera froze.

What did he just say?

Sure, he'd been curt. Distant. He often ended conversations with silence, a clipped reply, or simply walked away. But he had never crossed into open disrespect.

Not until now.

Was it because of that girl?

That illegitimate child?

"She's my daughter," he said firmly. "Don't speak of her like that in front of me. What I choose to give her is none of your business. And as for Soyun and Haejin—they've lacked nothing."

She barely heard the rest. His words blurred behind the sting of wounded pride.

"I'm your wife," she spat, her voice tightening into a hiss. "Soyun and Haejin are your legitimate children. We deserve more of your time—more of your consideration—than that whore's brat!"

A door slammed open behind them.

"What is all this ruckus?"

The voice was deep, cold, and unyielding. It cut through the rising tension like a blade, echoing across the marble foyer with unquestionable authority.

Both of them froze.

Han Geongseok stood at the entrance, framed by the soft glow of the corridor lights. A cane rested in his right hand—polished ebony capped in silver, carved with the Han family crest. 

His posture was straight despite his age, his presence commanding.

Steel-gray hair slicked back, not a strand out of place. A tailored navy coat draped over his shoulders, its sharp lines mirroring the harsh angles of his expression. 

His eyes—dark, penetrating—scanned the room with the weight of a man who had seen empires rise and fall and had no time for melodrama.

"Father-in-law!" Sera brightened, immediately rushing over. "You're just in time. Please talk to Sanghyun. He wants to send that girl to Daehyun Academy with Soyun and Haejin! Do you know what that will do to our reputation? People will start talking again! All our efforts to bury that scandal—"

"Keep your hands to yourself," Geongseok said coolly, brushing off her attempt to hold his arm.

Sera pressed her lips together, awkwardly withdrawing her hands as she stepped back, swallowing the sting of humiliation.

With Sanghyun, she could raise her voice, throw tantrums, assert her pride—and he would tolerate it, to an extent, for the sake of their children.

But not with Han Geongseok.

Though Sanghyun bore the title of president, it was the old man's political ties, backroom deals, and long-standing influence over lawmakers that still formed the bedrock of the Han Group's power. 

Her father had warned her more than once—the temper tantrums that worked at home would backfire here. 

Anger him, and it wouldn't just be her position at risk—it would be his, too.

Geongseok never held back when it came to his opinions. When he disapproved, he made it known—publicly, brutally. Even in front of servants or high-profile guests, he wouldn't hesitate to tear her pride apart.

Before him, she was never good enough.

Sera gritted her teeth behind a tight smile.

All she could do now was wait. One day, the old dog would die—either from old age or bad luck.

Geongseok turned to Sanghyun, his voice low and dismissive.

"That girl… what's her name again?"

"Han Areum," Sanghyun said through gritted teeth, deliberately emphasizing the Han—a reminder to his father that he had another granddaughter.

Geongseok raised a brow. "And do you expect the Han Group to fund her lavish lifestyle and schooling out of charity? What exactly does she bring to the table?"

"It's none of your—"

"She has no use!" Sera cut in sharply before Sanghyun could finish. "She hasn't even attended middle school. No tutors. Nothing. She just wastes away in that condo doing absolutely nothing."

Sanghyun turned toward her, fury flashing in his eyes. "You hired someone to follow her?"

Sera scoffed, dismissing the question. "Unlike her, our Soyun and Haejin actually have direction. They've already started weekend training at the company, attend school every weekday, and study at hagwons every night. They're not wasting away in some condo like a pampered stray you took in out of guilt—"

BANG. The cane slammed into the marble floor.

"You," Geongseok barked, pointing the cane at her like a sword, "Leave us. Now."

Sera glared, but she knew better. Without another word, she pressed her lips into a tight line and stormed out.

Sanghyun's eyes followed her, his anger still simmering. She had someone follow Areum?

He'd assigned personal guards to protect his daughter when she goes out—professionals he trusted to report anything unusual. And yet, not a single word had reached him.

A cold suspicion coiled in his gut.

Don't tell me…

One of them has been bribed?

"Don't let your thoughts wander," Geongseok snapped. "Deal with your household mess later. We're not finished."

Geongseok walked into the living room at a measured pace and sank into the wide leather couch, settling in with the weight of a man used to being listened to.

Sanghyun trailed after him, jaw tight, impatience simmering beneath his composed exterior.

The living room space radiated wealth—sleek black stone, soft downlighting, and a fireplace that glowed with carefully curated warmth. Gold-lined bookshelves filled with political biographies flanked the walls. 

A butler set down a porcelain tea set with the Han family crest engraved on its lid.

Sanghyun sat across from him.

"I heard you gave her a black card and spoiled her rotten."

There was no anger in Geongseok's voice—just cold disdain.

"Spending Han Group's money on someone who brings nothing to the table…" He scoffed. "Even if it's pocket change to you, waste is still waste. Do you think this empire was built on blank checks and sentiment?"

His gaze sharpened.

"Our ancestors were farmers—dirt-poor, scraping the bottom of rice pots just to survive. My father, and his before him, built this company with calloused hands and sleepless years. We were taught the value of every won. No indulgence without return."

He paused. Then added flatly, "If she's to carry the Han name, she'll need to be raised like one."

Sanghyun didn't flinch. He knew this man too well. His father didn't believe in wasted investment—and blood ties meant little if they didn't serve the family legacy.

If Areum couldn't prove her worth, she'd receive nothing.

But she was his daughter.

What he chose to give her wasn't anyone's business.

Sanghyun was no longer the obedient son who bowed his head and asked permission. 

"It's a personal black card," Sanghyun said, voice even. "Not corporate. It has nothing to do with Han Group—"

"I don't care if it's your personal account," Geongseok cut in sharply. "You sit in that chair because of the Han name. Every cent you've earned—every ounce of power you think is yours—exists because I built the foundation you stand on."

He exhaled through his nose, clearly about to continue—until he brought the teacup to his lips.

The moment the steam touched his face, he paused.

His brow furrowed. He lowered the cup slightly, then raised it again and inhaled more deeply.

The fragrance hit him like tides.

He smelled ginger—but it wasn't the usual comforting warmth. This was richer, sharper, alive. Notes of citrus and earth threaded through the steam, but beneath it all was something else. Something pulsing beneath the surface.

It wasn't just a scent. It was an energy—not faint, not subtle, but dense and potent, wrapping around his senses like a living current.

The kind of energy only those who had spent decades navigating the metaphysical and occult would recognize.

He stilled, nostrils flaring slightly.

Geongseok lifted the cup again, slower this time, and drank.

The taste hit first—bold, peppery ginger, followed by a smooth, clean sweetness. Not quite honey, but close. Warmer. Purer.

Heat spread from his throat down into his chest, then gathered in his dantian—steady and intense. From there, it coursed outward through his meridians, tracing vivid paths along his spine and into each limb. 

His joints, once stiff and aching, loosened as the throbbing ebbed away, replaced by a lingering, gentle warmth that settled deep into his bones.

With a ruddy face, he set the cup down, staring at it as if it had just spoken to him.

The amber liquid shimmered faintly under the light, carrying a subtle golden hue—barely visible, yet he could unmistakably see it.

"Where," he asked, his voice low and taut with restrained urgency, "did you get this tea?"