It was exactly twelve noon.
The sun outside burned mercilessly, but inside the interview room, the air felt cold—heavy enough to suffocate.
Anya Lu sat on a plain chair, her back straight, her posture polite. Her fingers clenched the strap of her bag in her lap so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. The soft rustling sound of papers flipping across the table felt like salt being rubbed into an open wound.
Then—
The manager across from her removed his glasses and let out a tired, indifferent sigh.
"I'm sorry, Miss Lu," he said flatly. "We can't hire you. You're not suitable for this position."
Bang.
The sound of the file snapping shut echoed in Anya's ears like an explosion.
Her face drained of color. For a split second, it felt as if the floor beneath her feet had disappeared. Her throat went dry. She swallowed hard and forced her lips to move.
"C-Can you please give me just one chance?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound composed. "Sir, I'm hardworking. I'll prove myself. I won't disappoint you."
The manager didn't even look up.
"Miss Lu," he replied coldly, "this isn't charity. This is business. We don't give chances."
He gestured toward the door. "You may leave."
A sob rose in Anya's throat, but she forced it back down. Gathering what little dignity she had left, she stood up, bowed lightly, and whispered a soft thank you.
She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, hiding the tears threatening to spill, and walked out with heavy, unsteady steps.
The moment she stepped out of the tall office building, a wave of scorching heat crashed into her face.
Anya stopped, inhaling deeply—as if she could breathe out the suffocation crushing her chest.
"That was my tenth interview…" she murmured, staring blankly at the sky. "And I got rejected again."
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Her mind flooded with worries— dead farther scen and her mother's medicines, their tiny home, the dreams she had never been able to complete. She wanted a better life. A bigger house. A large TV where she could freely watch her favorite K-dramas. Beautiful clothes she wouldn't feel guilty buying.
"I couldn't do anything," she whispered bitterly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
"I'm such a failure."
Just then, Jungkook's voice burst out from her purse.
Her phone rang.
She pulled out her cheap phone, its old Cooky cover slightly worn at the edges.
"H-Hello," she answered, forcing her voice to sound normal.
"So?" came Huan Jing's bright, energetic voice from the other end. "How did your tenth interview go?"
"Same as the rest," Anya replied as she sat down on a bench by the roadside. "Rejected."
"What?!" Huan Jing exclaimed. "Don't be sad! Listen—there's an interview at my company tomorrow. Z.Y Company! I already submitted your name."
Anya's eyes widened.
"R-Really?"
"Yes! I swear. Your luck is about to change, trust me!"
For the first time that day, a faint light returned to Anya's eyes—like a drowning person finally grabbing onto a rope.
"Thank you… my bestie," she said softly. "You're the best friend in the world."
"Oh, don't thank me yet," Huan Jing laughed. "If you get selected, you owe me a grand party!"
Anya laughed too—genuinely this time.
"If I pass, we're partying the very first night. I promise."
"Deal! Now I have to hang up—lunch break is over. That grumpy manager will eat me alive!"
The call ended.
Anya slipped the phone back into her purse and smiled faintly.
"Maybe… there's still hope," she whispered.
"I'm only twenty-two. I can't give up yet."
At ten that night, Anya sat in her small room—her little universe.
Jungkook posters covered the walls. Cute plush toys rested neatly in one corner. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her old laptop balanced on her knees, preparing for tomorrow.
She typed into Google:
"Z.Y Company CEO"
The moment the results loaded, her breath caught.
On the screen was a man impossibly handsome—and impossibly cold.
"Z.Y Company… CEO—Zain Yan," she read quietly.
In the photo, he wore a black turtleneck. His sharp eyes looked like those of a predator—calm, dangerous, merciless.
"He's… really handsome," she muttered, tracing the screen absentmindedly.
Then she noticed his profile.
"Age… twenty-eight?"
Her eyes widened.
"Only six years older than me… and he became a CEO at twenty-one?" She let out a bitter laugh.
"When I was struggling through college, this man was ruling the world."
She looked at her reflection in the mirror.
"And me?" she whispered. "Still unemployed."
Just then—
"Anya! Anya! Come downstairs, quick!"
Her mother's voice echoed from below.
Anya shut her laptop and hurried down.
The moment she opened the living room door, her face lit up.
"Uncle Lu!"
Standing at the door was her beloved uncle, arms full of shopping bags.
Anya ran into his arms. He lifted her off the ground effortlessly, laughing.
"My Anya! How's my girl?"
She noticed the familiar lion tattoo on his wrist—the same one she had seen since childhood.
Her brother wei smirked.
"Uncle, you always bring gifts for your niece. What about your favorite nephew?"
Uncle Lu laughed heartily.
"For me, Anya is everything. She's like my own daughter."
"Close your eyes," he said mysteriously.
Anya obeyed.
He placed something smooth and silky into her hands—a beautiful blue designer purse.
"Oh my God!" she gasped. "Uncle, it's my favorite color! Thank you so much!"
She hugged him tightly.
She didn't know.
She had no idea what terrifying secrets the man she loved so dearly was hiding.
At the same moment, in Shenzhen most elite district, a black armored car stopped in front of a massive mansion.
The door opened.
A polished shoe touched the ground.
Dozens of bodyguards and servants bowed ninety degrees in unison.
"Welcome back, Young Master Zain."
Zain Yan stepped out, draped in a grey overcoat. His face was expressionless—cold, distant, carved from steel. Without acknowledging anyone, he walked inside.
The mansion was silent. Oppressive.
Like a sacred temple… and a prison.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Each step echoed sharply through the long corridor. No one dared to breathe too loudly.
Zain entered his private elevator.
The doors slid shut.
Alone.
For a fleeting second, the mask cracked.
His gaze fell on the old, worn watch on his wrist.
Rain.
The smell of cake.
Blood spreading across the floor.
"M-Mom—!"
"Jiya—!"
His fingers curled into a fist, veins standing out as if they might burst.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
The mask returned.
Inside his office stood Kiyan—his most trusted right hand—and a man trembling so badly his knees almost gave way.
"Speak," Zain said softly.
The temperature in the room dropped.
Kiyan placed a thick file on the desk.
"We finally traced him who kil your mother and sister," Kiyan said carefully. "The man who worked as the Dragon King's primary executioner seventeen years ago."
Zain didn't move.
"One word," he said calmly.
"Name."
Kiyan swallowed.
"Lu Kang."
The name struck like a silent explosion.
Zain slowly turned toward the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights below looked small. Insignificant.
"So he's still breathing," Zain murmured.
"The law failed him," he continued in an even tone. "That's unfortunate."
A bodyguard stepped forward hesitantly.
"Sir… we tried locating Lu Kang's current residence. He's extremely cautious. No fixed address. No trace."
Zain smiled.
It wasn't warm.
It was the smile of a predator amused by a difficult hunt.
"Interesting," he said softly.
He picked up another thin file lying on the table—routine HR documents from Z.Y Company.
Fresh applicants.
Design department.
His eyes skimmed the pages without interest—until they paused for half a second.
A photograph.
A young woman with glasses. Calm eyes. A strangely familiar stillness.
Zain frowned slightly.
Not recognition.
Just… discomfort.
"Why does this feel familiar…?" he thought.
He closed the file.
"Prepare a full background check on Lu Kang," Zain ordered.
"Friends. Family. Every shadow connected to him."
Kiyan nodded. "Yes, sir."
Zain turned back to the window.
Outside, the city glittered—ignorant of the storm forming quietly within him.
"Fifteen years," he whispered.
"I've waited seventeen years."
His eyes darkened.
"Let's see how long you can keep hiding, Uncle Lu."
The game had begun.
And neither hunter nor prey knew yet—
That fate had already started weaving their paths together.