“That man’s more interested in my marriage than I am. He’s probably tried to match me with every group out there, not just Seongjin.”

Jichan’s face paled at those words. Other conglomerates were eager to form marriage ties with Seongjin Group, lining up for the chance—but the only one Jichan deemed worthy was Taehwa.

“But you know there’s no better father-in-law than me, right? The only group fit to pair with Taehwa is our Seongjin. How could I ever attach a minnow of a company to a group that’s going to rule the world?”

“Seongjin Group—it’s not bad.”

Seungjo crossed his muscular legs, his foot tapping idly. The action was condescending, something you’d do to a subordinate, but Jichan’s anxious expression brightened noticeably.

“You know my daughter Serin, right?”

“Of course. Every time we shared a meal, you’d serve up your daughter’s praises alongside the side dishes.”

“Haha, you really have a way of being brutally blunt… Ahem. Well, yes. Serin’s talented in many areas.”

Jichan licked his lips nervously under Seungjo’s dry stare.

“Did I ever tell you this? When Serin was twenty, she entered a piano competition sponsored by Madam Hong Naae. That’s when she first fell for you.”

“A piano competition…”

“She said she saw you by chance before the performance began. You looked so refined and handsome that her young heart fluttered. Even when she got on stage, you were the only one she could see in that big crowd. She was so nervous, she tried to steady her fingers but ended up underperforming.”

“I see.”

Seungjo tapped his fingers on the sofa. His grandmother, Naae, had always had a deep appreciation for music. While she sometimes learned instruments for fun, her main passion was funding and attending concerts bearing her name. Her grandson Seungjo was no exception.

“Even though she lost the gold prize that day, it was strange she didn’t cry. Now I know why.”

Jichan clicked his tongue softly, recalling Serin. She had always hated losing. When he heard she’d lost, he’d braced for a tantrum and a headache. But what did he find?

Serin, dressed in a custom gown made by a world-renowned designer just for her, was shyly smiling. The usual pride and aloofness were gone. She then started pestering Jichan non-stop about the handsome man sitting beside Madam Hong Naae during the recital.

This very meeting today—Jichan coming alone to speak with Seungjo—was in hopes of moving the idea of marriage forward. But in truth, Serin had insisted on riding in his car all the way to Taehwa Group.

“She probably never mentioned it because she was shy. Do you remember? Our Serin’s the kind of girl who stands out anywhere.”

Serin, who resembled her mother, was indeed beautiful—stunning enough to capture any man’s heart. Jichan’s voice was laced with subtle pride.

“Unfortunately, I don’t remember. What I do recall is that the weather was annoyingly nice that day.”

Seungjo’s tone remained indifferent. His cold reply—remembering the weather from over ten years ago, but not Serin—made Jichan frown.

“Well, I suppose with how much data you store in that head of yours… Ha! Wasn’t it a hot summer that day?”

“Spring.”

Seungjo corrected him curtly. Jichan’s neck flushed red from the blunt correction.

“Ahem… And how would you remember something like that? Spring or summer, it’s all the same kind of lukewarm heat!”

Seungjo didn’t answer. He simply recalled that memory from over a decade ago, vivid as if it happened yesterday.

It was a spring day in full bloom, cherry blossoms fluttering down.

Seungjo was twenty-two then.

The one who appreciated music was his grandmother Naae—not him. He preferred intense sports laced with competitive bets over gentle classical melodies.

Had Naae not pouted like a child, he wouldn’t have gone to that competition at all.

It was especially frustrating that people kept recognizing him and trying to suck up, which is why he briefly left the concert hall.

‘Do you know how much these recital tickets cost? Only the most elite in Korea are here!’

‘Madam Hong Naae gave you this ticket to enjoy, and you’re ruining it?’

There was a commotion in the emergency stairwell. He heard his grandmother’s name and a familiar middle-aged man’s voice.

He slowed, pulling a cigarette from his suit jacket as he moved toward the noise.

‘Knew you’d pull this crap! Go change into this right now! Hurry!’

‘I don’t want to! How can you make me wear something like that?’

‘You’ve lost your mind. Sun Hae-joo!’

Smack!

With a frown, Seungjo pushed open the emergency door with the heel of his shoe.

Below him, a young woman had been slapped and was on the floor, while the middle-aged man towered over her, pointing furiously.

Seungjo immediately recognized the man: Kwak Man-cheol, the landscaper for the Seongbuk-dong estate gardens.

‘You’ve got to earn your keep! What use is a meager paycheck once you’re a regular employee? Best shot is to catch the eye of a rich guy tonight!’

‘I can’t! If I just get a good job, I’ll pay you back, I promise…’

‘Don’t be stupid! You just graduated high school—you’re twenty now. You know how the world works. You’ve got your mother’s looks—what, you gonna use that pretty face to boil soup?’

Man-cheol roughly yanked off the thin cardigan the young woman clutched tightly.

Disgusted, Seungjo’s eyes moved from her swollen red cheek to her small, beautiful face.

Her pale shoulders were delicate, graceful. A strikingly pretty girl.

‘Seriously, what a body. And that chest? Rich guys love that. Just show it off and they’ll fall over themselves!’

‘No… stop it.’

‘If you don’t listen, I’ll cut off your mother’s hospital bills! I’m breaking my back taking care of her, and all you do is tutor? Time to be more productive!’

‘How can you say something so awful every time? I told you to leave Mom out of this. Please…’

The girl choked back a sob, her voice starting to tremble.

‘Don’t even think about going home until the recital’s over. Stay where the rich men can see you—got it?’

Even as he spoke, Man-cheol had to restrain himself from slapping her again out of habit.

‘If only Madam Hong were a man instead of a woman… tch!’

Seungjo laughed in disbelief. Was this really a nephew and his uncle?

His grandmother Naae was seventy-six that year. She looked and acted younger than her age, but time still left its traces. Seungjo had heard from Soon-yi that Naae had started calling in a young girl to massage her legs when the pain acted up.

‘Do you even know what you’re saying?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t get it! Rubbing Madam Hong’s legs every day—didn’t it ever cross your mind? If she were a man, she’d have pulled you into bed by now and spoiled you rotten!’

‘That’s disgusting…! You’re revolting!’

The girl trembled, covering her mouth in horror.

Even Seungjo felt sick hearing it. If he could, he’d call it what it really was—some decrepit man trying to sell his niece to a wealthy elder.

Seungjo’s brows drew together, then he smirked coldly.

‘Disgusting? You little brat dare look at your uncle like that?’

As Man-cheol raised his hand again to strike, Seungjo slammed the already-ajar door open with his foot.