By midday, So-Yeon had something — a name buried deep in a contract, one that tied the man to a network of offshore accounts.
Hana skimmed the papers, her breath steady. "This is it. This is where he hides his power."
Mi-Ho leaned over her shoulder. "And where we take it away."
They met in the study, the air heavy with the smell of old paper and fresh determination. So-Yeon laid out the plan like a battlefield map. "If we leak this to the press, he'll be exposed. But we'll need proof solid enough to survive court."
"I'll get it," Hana said, surprising them both with the speed of her reply.
Mi-Ho frowned. "You don't have to be the one—"
"I do," she interrupted. "Because I'm the one who lived it. And if I'm going to be free, I have to be the one to end it."
There was no drama in her voice, no trembling. Just resolve.
That night, as she sat in her room, Hana opened an old wooden box she hadn't touched in years. Inside were scraps of a life she'd tried to forget — a faded scarf, a broken bracelet, and a photograph of him, smiling like a man who thought he owned the world.
She stared at it for a long time, then slipped it into her bag. Tomorrow, she would face him again.
Not as the girl he bought.
But as the woman who would destroy him.