Nabi hadn't planned on stepping foot into the one place that reeked of everything she hated most. But when duty calls, even her stubbornness had its limits.
Her brother's email had gone out to her entire branch of the company, demanding they oversee the final edits for a set of photos that, frankly, weren't even their responsibility. Suspicious didn't begin to cover it. This wasn't protocol, and Namjoo's involvement only heightened her unease.
Something else was going on, but Nabi wasn't about to address it directly—not on a day already destined to scrape at her last nerve. That resolve, however, crumbled the moment a knock sounded at her office door.
"What?" she snapped, not bothering to hide her irritation.
The door opened with an infuriating leisure that could only belong to Namjoo. He sauntered in, hands stuffed in his jean pockets, a folder tucked under one arm like it was the most casual thing in the world.
"You visited Mom yet?" he asked, his tone so nonchalant it made her skin crawl.
Nabi bristled at the mention. "I'm going later today," she said curtly, her eyes narrowing as she watched him stroll around her office like he owned the place.
"With your boyfriend?"
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. Namjoo's smirk spread at her reaction, pleased with himself as always. He thrived on chaos, and she hated how easily he could still shake her.
"How the hell do you know about that?" Her voice dropped, low and sharp.
Namjoo laughed, a sound that grated her nerves. "I have my sources," he said, throwing her a wink that only made her headache worse.
Nabi groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. If Namjoo knew, it was only a matter of time before their father found out. And that—she swallowed hard—wouldn't end well. Their father's unpredictability had only worsened since their mother's death. She didn't need to imagine what he'd do to meddle in her life; she knew he'd find a way.
"Whatever," she muttered. "Just give me the photos so I can get this over with."
But Namjoo didn't move. Instead, his smirk faded, replaced by a seriousness that caught her off guard. He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly.
"I lied," he said, his voice unusually quiet.
Nabi froze. Two words, yet they hit her like a freight train.
Her heart pounded as she sat up straighter, tension rippling through her. "About what?" she demanded, the words sharper than she intended.
Namjoo hesitated, looking away like the answer was painted somewhere on her office walls. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, reluctant. "You're fired."
Nabi stared at him, the words taking a moment to land. When they did, it felt like the floor beneath her had been yanked away.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She was fired? Fired from the company she'd bled for, the one she'd practically helped build from the ground up?
"Did Dad—" she started, but Namjoo cut her off by pulling an envelope from his back pocket and dropping it onto her desk.
It landed with a heavy thud, a cruel punctuation to his revelation. "₩1,500,000,000," he said flatly. "From Dad."
Nabi's breath hitched. Her eyes darted to the envelope, disbelief coursing through her. Her father had given her money? Compensation? Her chest tightened as Namjoo explained further.
"Since Mom passed, he said he's 'finally' free to fade into the background. He's filling the company with people she hated—shares, positions, the works. Apparently, that includes someone taking your job. He doesn't care about the family image anymore, so he's cutting ties. The money's for you to...do whatever you want. Maybe make a label of your own or something."
Namjoo's voice was detached, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it.
Nabi couldn't process the flood of emotions crashing through her. Anger. Betrayal. Relief. Confusion. It all tangled into a mess she couldn't untangle.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the envelope. The weight of it was literal and figurative, pressing down on her chest. "Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.
Namjoo shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Because someone had to. And because...you deserve to know."
She looked up at him, searching for a sign of the brother she used to know. For years, he'd been little more than a thorn in her side, but now—now he almost looked human.
"Take your assistants," he added. "Dad said he'd send more money if you needed it."
Nabi blinked, stunned. "He did?"
Namjoo smirked, a faint shadow of his usual self. "No, but I have access to his account. So...same thing."
For the first time in years, Nabi almost laughed at his joke. Almost.
Namjoo turned to leave, pausing at the door. He glanced back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
"Oh, and the funeral?" His voice softened. "It was bullshit. You wouldn't have wanted to be there anyway."
The words hung in the air, cutting deeper than he probably intended. But they also carried a strange, unexpected comfort.
As he left, Nabi stared at the door, her mind reeling. The envelope felt heavier in her hands now, a reminder of everything she'd lost—and everything she might gain.
For the first time, she allowed herself to wonder: what if this was a chance to start over? But even that thought felt hollow, swallowed by the ache in her chest.
She wasn't ready to let go. Not yet
