Chapter 1 – The Fall
The night the Seo family lost everything, the chandeliers were still shining.
Crystal glasses clinked in the grand dining hall of the Seo mansion in Seoul. Outside, the city lights glittered like diamonds scattered across the Han River. Inside, the air smelled of expensive wine and silent fear.
Mr. Seo had not touched his food.
Across from him sat his wife, Hye-jin, still elegant in silk despite the tremor in her hands. At the far end of the table, their son, Joon-woo, 35 years old, watched his father with quiet unease.
The phone call came at 10:42 PM.
Mr. Seo stood up without a word.
By midnight, the news had spread faster than the winter wind — the company had collapsed. Investments failed. Debts uncovered. Lawsuits filed. The great Seo Group was bankrupt.
And pride — pride was a heavier burden than debt.
The next morning, police sirens echoed faintly beyond the gates.
Joon-woo found his father in the study.
A single note rested on the mahogany desk.
"I'm sorry."
That was all.
The chandeliers still shone above them, but the house had already gone dark.
Two weeks later, reporters camped outside the gates. Creditors lined up like vultures. The mansion was seized. The luxury cars were taken. Even the paintings were removed from the walls.
Hye-jin did not cry in front of her son.
Not once.
They left Seoul before dawn, carrying only two suitcases and a box of old photographs.
They moved to a small coastal town hours away — far from gossip, far from shame.
Far from who they used to be.
The first winter was the cruelest.
Hye-jin, once known for hosting charity galas, now stood behind a small street cart near the market, stirring a pot of bright red tteokbokki. The spicy aroma filled the cold air.
Her hands, once soft from silk gloves, were now burned from boiling sauce.
"Fresh tteokbokki! Hot and spicy!"
Day.
Night.
Rain.
Snow.
She stood there.
Joon-woo watched her from across the street the first week. He couldn't bear it.
He found work at a construction site near the harbor. Hard hat. Steel boots. Rough hands. Twelve hours under the sun.
The workers didn't know who he used to be.
To them, he was just "Joon."
He didn't correct them.
One evening, after a long shift, Joon-woo walked home covered in dust and cement. His back ached. His palms were blistered.
He stopped by his mother's cart.
She was smiling at customers.
Smiling.
As if her husband had not taken his own life.
As if she had not lost everything.
When the last customer left, she quietly handed him a paper cup of tteokbokki.
"Eat before it gets cold," she said softly.
He looked at her burned fingers.
For the first time since his father's death, his composure cracked.
"Mom… you don't have to do this."
She met his eyes.
"We are still alive, Joon-woo."
Her voice did not shake.
"As long as we are alive, we can start again."
The wind from the sea carried the scent of salt and red pepper paste.
In the distance, construction cranes moved like silent giants against the fading sunset.
Joon-woo stared at the horizon.
He didn't know that in this small town — between cement dust and street food steam — he would meet the woman who would change his life.
He didn't know that love would find him not in a ballroom…
…but beside a tteokbokki cart under flickering streetlights.
And he didn't know that some wounds do not close easily.
Some wounds bleed quietly.
And some hearts… take time to learn how to beat again.