Jeon Jaehuyng

Cold, calculated, dangerously patient

CEO of a global investment empire

Known for destroying companies without leaving fingerprints

Believes emotions are weaknesses—until obsession proves him wrong

Hidden truth: his entire life is built on revenge

Kim Vincent

Elegant, sharp-tongued, unreadable

Art curator with a powerful underground network

Plays people like chess pieces

Doesn’t trust easily—but hides pain behind charm

Secret: his past is tied to a tragedy that Jaehuyng caused

The night smelled like burning velvet.

Smoke curled into the sky, thick and suffocating, swallowing the stars whole. Flames roared through the mansion, devouring everything—paintings, memories, laughter.

A boy stood outside the gates.

Barefoot. Silent.

His small hands clenched tightly, nails digging into his skin as he watched the world he knew turn into ashes.

That boy was Kim Vincent.

Inside that fire— his parents screamed.

Inside that fire— his life ended.

But Vincent didn’t cry.

He memorized it.

Every detail. Every second. Every flicker of flame.

Because even at that age, something inside him whispered:

This wasn’t an accident.

Across the city—

In a cold office filled with glass walls and ambition—

Another boy signed his first contract.

His hand trembled slightly as he wrote his name:

Jeon Jaehuyng

He didn’t look up when the man across the table smiled.

“Congratulations. You just secured your future.”

Jaehuyng only nodded.

He didn’t ask what the deal truly meant.

He didn’t ask what had to be sacrificed.

Because he had already learned something important—

Power doesn’t come clean.

{TEN YEARS LATER}

The city glittered under artificial lights.

Everything looked beautiful—

if you didn’t look too closely.

Vincent stood in the center of his gallery, dressed in black silk, a glass of wine resting between his fingers. The room buzzed with wealthy guests, critics, and collectors.

But Vincent wasn’t listening.

He was waiting.

And then—

The doors opened.

A man walked in like he owned the air itself.

Tall. Sharp. Controlled.

Jeon Jaehuyng.

The room shifted around him. People noticed. They always did.

But Jaehuyng’s gaze didn’t linger on the paintings.

It landed on Vincent.

And stayed.

For a moment—

Time paused.

Vincent tilted his head slightly, studying him.

There it was.

That face.

Older now. Colder.

But unmistakable.

The boy who unknowingly signed away his life.

Vincent smiled.

Not warmly.

Not kindly.

But like a blade wrapped in silk.

And he walked toward him.

“Mr. Jeon.”

His voice was smooth. Calm.

Jaehuyng looked down at him, unreadable.

“Mr…?”

“Vincent.”

A pause.

Something flickered in Jaehuyng’s eyes—recognition? No.

Just curiosity.

“I’ve heard of your gallery,” Jaehuyng said.

Vincent smirked slightly.

“And I’ve heard of your… destruction.”

Jaehuyng didn’t react.

But he didn’t look away either.

“Careful,” Vincent added softly, stepping closer, “some things aren’t meant to be owned.”

Jaehuyng leaned in just enough for his voice to drop—

“I don’t believe in that.”

It started as business.

At least, that’s what everyone believed.

Jaehuyng invested in Vincent’s gallery—quietly, strategically.

Vincent accepted—gracefully, deliberately.

But behind the scenes—

Every move had intent.

Every word had weight.

Vincent fed information to Jaehuyng’s competitors.

Jaehuyng crushed them anyway.

Jaehuyng tried to map Vincent’s network.

Vincent let him see only what he want

But something was… off.

Jaehuyng noticed it first.

Vincent wasn’t afraid of him.

Not even a little.

And that was unusual.

Everyone feared Jeon Jaehuyng.

Except him.