Anger never builds; it only tears down. In the heat of a single moment, it can feel like strength, an armor to hide behind. But when the fire fades, all that's left are the ashes of what once mattered. Anger doesn't solve anything-it devours patienc...
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The curtain fell, and I was the only one left on stage.
Chapter 39: Documents
The air inside the Jeon family’s study was suffocatingly heavy — the kind that pressed against the skin and made it difficult to breathe. The faint scent of burning incense still lingered, ghosting through the air from the funeral earlier that morning. Every corner of the room seemed dimmer, weighed down by grief. Even the ticking of the grandfather clock felt louder than usual — a cruel reminder that time, despite tragedy, refused to stop.
Gaeul sat gracefully on the leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other, her posture perfect and composed. She wore black, as tradition demanded, but even mourning looked elegant on her. Her fingers toyed idly with a silver ring — a quiet, steady movement that matched the calm expression she wore like armor. Across from her stood Kyushu, her hands folded tightly in front of her apron, standing beside Jungkook, who hadn’t spoken a single word since the funeral ended.
Jungkook’s eyes were swollen from crying, the skin beneath them pale and bruised. His gaze was fixed on the polished floor, lost somewhere far away — perhaps back in that hospital room where he’d seen the lifeless bodies of his parents. He looked fragile, drained, like someone whose world had collapsed in a single night.
At the center of the room, the family’s long-time lawyer — Attorney Park Doyun — cleared his throat. His suit was neat, his tie perfectly straight, but there was a stiffness in his manner that betrayed discomfort. He looked like a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
“As the appointed legal representative of the late Mr. and Mrs. Jeon,” he began, his tone formal, “I will now read the contents of their last will and testament, notarized on the 7th of March, two years ago.”
The soft crackle of paper echoed as he opened the leather-bound folder resting on the desk. Inside, pages of cream-colored parchment bore the unmistakable crimson marks of official seals — dojangs pressed deep into the paper, each carrying the authority of law. The scent of old ink filled the silence.
“According to this notarized document,” Doyun continued, “the couple’s primary heir is their son, Jeon Jungkook, who shall inherit all personal belongings, family mementos, and the management rights to the main company, Jeon Group Holdings.”
Kyushu felt a rush of relief course through her chest. Of course. That was how it was supposed to be. Jungkook was their only son — their pride, their future.
But thenDoyun hesitated. The sound of paper turning was sharper this time.
“However…”
The single word seemed to pierce the quiet like a knife.
“In consideration of business stability and estate division,” the lawyer went on carefully, “Mr. JeonJunghyun and Mrs. Jung Miyeonhave also declared that seventy-five percent of their total corporate shares — including ownership of the Jeon Mansion, subsidiary holdings, and assets under Jung Group Enterprises — shall be transferred to Ms. Jung Gaeul.”
