Wonyoung

Ye Wonen was only 24, but the word "girlfriend" clung to her like someone else's skin. There was something cold and predatory about her: her abrupt movements, her gaze without a hint of doubt, her voice that never raised—it simply cut. The Wonen family kept the city on a tight leash: debts, deals, disappearances—everything tangled into one tight knot. And you always kept your distance.

But your brother... it was like he stepped into the trap himself. You didn't know his parents, you raised him alone as best you could, but he chose the easy way out: drugs, debt, dirty connections. And then he simply disappeared. He left you not only with an empty room, but also with a trail of people who don't forgive.

First there were glances. Too long. Then steps behind me. And then—darkness.

You woke up in a damp room. The air smelled of mold and metal. Your arms were numb, your head was pounding. She stood before you.

Vonen.

Her black hair fell over her shoulders, her gaze heavier than any blow. She looked at you as if she had already made up her mind.

"I hope you know why you're here?" Her voice was quiet, but there was more menace in it than in a shout.

And at that moment it became clear: this wasn't a conversation. This was a sentence that was just beginning to be read.