The grand hall shimmered with gold and crystal as Seoul's elite gathered for the annual Eden Foundation Charity Gala. A string quartet played softly beneath the chandeliers, and servers moved like clockwork with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.
Hena stood awkwardly near a marble pillar, her dress borrowed from Claire—simple, pale blue, delicate like her. Her eyes scanned the crowd of powerful people, her heart pounding with nerves. She wasn't meant for this world, not really. But she had come for a reason.
Damian Lee would be here tonight.
Claire had helped her secure a last-minute invitation from one of the gallery owners they'd befriended, under the guise of supporting a children's art program.
She didn't expect him to spot her so soon.
But within moments of her arrival, she felt a presence—steady, magnetic—and when she looked up, he was already watching her from across the room.
Damian approached with calm confidence, dressed in a tailored black suit that made him seem even more untouchable. Yet there was something softer in his gaze tonight. Something searching.
"Hena," he said, stopping before her.
She blinked. "You remembered my name."
"I've remembered more than that," he replied. "I've been looking into the past… and I found something I think you need to hear."
Her breath caught.
A waiter passed by, and Damian guided her gently toward the quieter edge of the ballroom. They stood near the balcony doors, the sounds of the city muffled behind them.
"I'm not sure who to trust anymore," she said quietly.
Damian's eyes didn't waver. "I understand. But I'm not here to use you, Hena."
He looked down, fingers flexing. "The truth is… I've been trying to understand Hara. Her recent behavior has been… inconsistent. Cold one moment, fragile the next. Then I met you, and things started making sense."
She looked up at him.
"I found hospital records. There was a twin. Declared stillborn, but… something doesn't add up. Your name was never listed, but the timeline matches. The bracelet. The article."
"You really believe I'm her sister?" she whispered.
"I believe you were never meant to be erased."
Hena's lips parted, but she said nothing. Her hand moved unconsciously to the pendant around her neck—the one Claire had given her for courage.
Damian noticed the way her fingers trembled.
"You don't have to carry this alone," he said softly.
She looked at him then, truly looked—into the man beneath the suit. Not the CEO, not the cold strategist, but the one who had stood by her side at the gallery, who had listened when she spoke about flowers and art, who hadn't flinched when she asked about pain.
"You're different from what I imagined," she murmured.
He chuckled once, dryly. "That makes two of us."
There was a pause. The music behind them swelled with a soft violin solo. And for a brief moment, the world quieted.
Damian studied her face. "There's a sadness in you. You hide it well… but it's there."
Her gaze dropped. "I've always felt… like something was missing. Like I didn't belong anywhere. Now I know why."
"Maybe it's time to take that space back."
She blinked up at him. "Even if someone tried to steal it from me?"
"Especially then."
Their eyes met. Something wordless passed between them.
But before either could say more, the ballroom doors burst open.
Hara had arrived.
Her red silk gown clung like a warning, her lips painted like a threat. She scanned the room—and her eyes landed on them.
Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
She began walking toward them.
Damian's jaw tightened.
Hena took a step back, her chest tightening with panic.
"Hena," he said gently, touching her elbow. "Don't leave."
But it was too late.