Eun Chae snorted and crossed her arms tightly. If they thought she would comply easily, they were mistaken.

When the car stopped in front of the school’s art hall, she said assertively, “I don’t want to see the car behind when I come out.”

Lee Kwang Il, silent, looked at her through the rearview mirror. She continued.

“If you lose me today, you’ll probably be fired.”

She effectively threatened to get rid of the following car or face consequences.

Eun Chae tried to exit, but the door was locked. The bodyguard in the driver’s seat quickly got out of the car.
Eun Chae, unable to get out of the car as the door was locked, watched as a bodyguard quickly got out of the driver’s seat. It seemed like Lee Kwang Il was the one giving orders, remaining seated inside.

“What’s this? Are you trying to scare me?” Eun Chae snapped.

Kwang Il looked frustrated and said, “Miss.”

Struggling with the formality of the address, he sighed deeply and then spoke, “Leave Kwon Ki Joo alone.”

Surprised by his unexpected advice, Eun Chae turned to look at him questioningly.

“What’s your agenda in driving him crazy, really?”

Kwang Il didn’t answer her question. Instead, he signaled the waiting bodyguard outside, who then opened the rear door of the car, indicating she could get out.

Eun Chae didn’t dare to question Kwang Il further given the tense atmosphere and got out of the car.

The next day, the D1 Group’s headquarters building had its inauguration ceremony. A rookie journalist, zooming in on one of the attendees with his camera, whistled silently.

“Wow, is that even human? She looks like a goddess!”

Given Song Myung-hwan’s reputation for meticulousness, he must have taken great care with the seating arrangements. The woman seated in the center of the front row was extraordinarily beautiful, beyond just being called pretty.

Her skin was so pale and smooth it looked like she had never made a facial expression in her life.

And indeed, even now, she was expressionless. Her jet-black hair complemented her sleek black dress, adding to her cool demeanor.

A colleague journalist, who had been frantically taking notes, noticed where the camera was pointing and agreed, “That’s Song’s only daughter.”

“The toad’s genes have pulled off a mutation then?”

“She’s not his biological daughter. Genetics aren’t just for show, right?”

“What? So, she’s adopted? She definitely looks like she has a story.”

“Would she be raised with such grace if she was adopted? Song must be itching to kick her out. She’s the daughter of his deceased wife.”

“A real Cinderella story! That’s Song Myung-hwan’s group?”

D1 Group, known for its tentacular business expansion, had become stable thanks to a substantial, albeit mysterious, influx of investment.

Now, with the construction of their new headquarters, the group had seemingly reached new heights. The ceremony, graced by a well-known host, appeared to be quite a success.

President Song Myung-hwan gave a speech from the podium, which had been carefully prepared by his office, ensuring perfection.

His usual magnanimous and kind image was complemented with an added touch of humility, an unusual trait for a corporate leader.

“…therefore, D1 will maintain its original spirit but will not rest on its laurels…”

Knowing journalists smirked at the mention of ‘original spirit.’

Song’s reference to the original spirit was linked to his start with co-CEO Park Moo-sung. In reality, it wasn’t the beginning.
The real beginning was even more humble and insignificant. There was even an unsavory death incident at a construction site thirteen years ago. D1’s growth, after all, wasn’t smooth. With his great pride, he probably wouldn’t want to mention that.

Anyway, the event was reaching its final stage. The chairman and the executives stood in line for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, cut the cake, popped champagne, and toasted. Camera flashes went off everywhere.

Particularly around Song Myung-hwan, the chairman, the sound of camera shutters was frequent.

Who would make such a grand event of an inauguration, even pulling in journalists?

As soon as the formal photography ended, journalists quickly dispersed.

Having greeted the shareholders, Chairman Song Myung-hwan entered the new building with a relieved face. He rode the executive elevator with his secretaries up to the 60th floor, where a room designated as the chairman’s lounge was located.

Song Myung-hwan looked back at his secretaries following him like a string of sausages. Secretary-General Kim Jin-ho, realizing his intention, stepped back.

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

The secretaries bowed and exited. With the sound of the closing door behind him, Song Myung-hwan stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The view from the 60th floor was literally breathtaking. The feeling of having all the tiny buildings under his feet was beyond imagination.

The chairman covered his silhouette reflected on the glass with his hand, showing a content expression. That’s when a knock was heard.

“Chairman, it’s Kwon Ki Joo.”

Hearing the introduction, Song Myung-hwan’s expression subtly changed.

“Come in.”

The door opened. Kwon Ki Joo, crossing the room as big as an elementary school playground, overshadowed the grandeur of the chairman’s personal space with his indifferent face.