Chapter 1: The Daughter

“This is my daughter.”

It was the last Thursday of September. The city carried the faint chill of approaching fall, while summer lingered only in memory. News of the death of Kyung-Jun Gyeong’s wife—the former chief prosecutor and head of Kyleum Law Firm—was posted on the prosecutor's office bulletin board like a silent decree.

Rian Sol entered the funeral parlor with his close friend, Chan-Young Bae. He paused just short of the third floor, where the private memorial room overflowed with mourners and flowers. Chan-Young followed, eyes widening.

“Oh my… it’s ridiculous. Anyone walking in would think this is a newly opened club, not a funeral,” Chan-Young muttered.

White chrysanthemums and black-striped ribbons filled the staircases and hallways, transforming the space into a display of wealth and power more than mourning.

As they ascended, Chan-Young whispered, “Rian… even if you’re the ‘grim reaper of Kyleum,’ Kyung-Jun’s influence is untouchable.”

Rian barely nodded, his attention snagged by a corner of the room where a young woman stood. Their eyes met unexpectedly, sharp and fleeting, as if the universe had paused for the moment.

Her dark eyes were calm, indifferent, almost unreadable, yet charged with quiet intelligence. She returned her gaze to the crowd, but Rian could not look away.

“Does Kyung-Jun have only one daughter?” Chan-Young asked.

The resemblance was unmistakable: pale skin, sharp features, black mourning attire—Ayla Kwon stood beside her father, a solitary heiress in a storm of whispers and floral displays.

“She doesn’t show grief,” Rian murmured.

Indeed, at her mother’s funeral, Ayla appeared untouched, distant, a quiet storm hiding beneath calm waters. Rian, accustomed to chaos and strong personalities, found her serene indifference both strange and magnetic.

“G-Pro, let’s go. It’s our turn,” Chan-Young nudged him.

Rian straightened his tie and stepped forward to pay respects. Kyung-Jun Gyeong greeted them warmly, shaking Chan-Young’s shoulder.

“It’s been a while. You came in person?”

“No excuses, Senior. It’s important,” Chan-Young replied politely. “I heard about your sister-in-law’s health… thank you for your efforts.”

Kyung-Jun gestured toward Ayla.

“This is my daughter, Ayla Kwon. Please, greet her. These are my father’s juniors.”

Ayla inclined her head, her words flowing like water—polite, controlled, yet carrying a trace of frost. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it.” Her voice held no warmth, no hint of vulnerability. Rian felt the chill of her composure, sharp and deliberate.

Chan-Young whispered with a smirk, “Someone’s caught his attention. Look at that—serious feelings brewing.”

Rian ignored him, drawn to Ayla’s presence. Then the door opened. The room collectively inhaled. Yang Da-jeong entered flawlessly. Partner at Kyleum Law, renowned for her sharp mind and audacity, she commanded attention effortlessly. The audacity to appear at the funeral made every eye turn.

Ayla did not flinch. Her icy, precise gaze swept over Yang Da-jeong as if measuring her worth—or lack thereof. The daughter’s silent authority quieted the room more than any presence could.

“Her name is Ayla Kwon,” someone whispered nearby.

Rian repeated it silently: Ayla… Ayla Kwon. Simple, yet formidable, like a frozen lake—beautiful, cold, and untouchable.

Later, at Seolleongtang in Seocho-dong, Chan-Young chattered about trivialities while Rian’s thoughts lingered on the funeral. Conversation drifted from the turning seasons to media, specifically NBS PD Bae Chan-soo, who had requested interviews about the Colvin case—a request Rian had refused.

Then, his phone vibrated. An unfamiliar number. Rian signaled Chan-Young to give him space, and pressed answer.

“Yes, this is Rian Sol,” he said.

A hesitant, low voice replied, careful and uncertain.

“Are you… Rian Sol?”

“Yes. I am.”

A pause, a measured inhale. Then:

“My name is… Ayla Kwon.”

Her voice was calm, deliberate, and commanding. Rian’s pulse quickened. A subtle tension, magnetic and undeniable, passed between them—two forces meeting, testing boundaries, daring each other to cross the line.

Rian straightened in his seat, mind alert, heart thudding. He had no idea what lay ahead, but one thing was clear: Ayla Kwon was no ordinary woman. She was a storm—distant yet mesmerizing—and he was already drawn into it.

And in the quiet hum of the restaurant, Rian Sol knew: this was just the beginning.

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