Ji-an sat curled up on her couch, the dim glow of the city lights casting long shadows across her apartment. A cup of untouched tea rested in her hands, its warmth fading—just like the dreams she once held so close.

  "Can I really go back?"

  The thought gnawed at her, relentless. She had spent years running—from the stage, from the betrayal, from the voice that had once been her everything. And now, standing on the other side of it all, she didn’t know if she had the strength to return.

  Her phone buzzed on the table. She ignored it, knowing it was likely her manager. Instead, she let herself sink back into the memories she had fought so hard to suppress.

  The whispers. The accusations. The way people turned their backs when she needed them most.

  Her fingers clenched around the ceramic cup as the sharp sting of humiliation resurfaced. The moment she had lost her voice—on stage, under the blinding lights—was burned into her mind. The silence that followed had been deafening.

  And yet…

  She could still remember the thrill of performing. The way the music had wrapped around her, lifting her beyond the chaos of reality. The way her fans had screamed her name with unwavering devotion. The way she had felt truly alive.

  A knock at the door made her flinch. A second later, a familiar voice called out.

  “Ji-an, it’s me.”

  She hesitated before finally pushing herself off the couch. When she opened the door, her manager, Kang Ha-neul, stood there, arms crossed, an expression of both concern and exasperation on her face.

  “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

  Ji-an sighed, stepping aside to let her in. “I wasn’t in the mood to talk.”

  Ha-neul walked in, scanning the cluttered apartment. “Not in the mood or too scared to face the truth?”

  Ji-an’s jaw tightened. “I told you, I’m done with that life.”

  Ha-neul didn’t flinch. Instead, she sat on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “Then why do you still listen to your old recordings?”

  Ji-an stiffened.

  Ha-neul gestured toward Ji-an’s laptop, still open on the coffee table. The music program was paused, a familiar track frozen on the screen. Ji-an’s heart clenched at the sight of her own voice waves staring back at her.

  “Don’t lie to me, Ji-an,” Ha-neul said softly. “You still want this.”

  Ji-an shook her head, looking away. “Wanting something and being able to have it are two different things.”

  Ha-neul exhaled, leaning forward. “Who told you that? The people who abandoned you? The ones who didn’t believe in you? Or is it just your own fear talking?”

  Ji-an swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know if I can do it again. What if I fail?”

  Ha-neul’s gaze softened. “Then fail. And get back up. But don’t spend the rest of your life wondering what if.”

  Silence stretched between them. Ji-an looked down at her hands, the same hands that once held microphones, signed autographs, played piano late into the night.

  Ha-neul stood up. “I won’t push you. But I need you to ask yourself this—if you walk away now, will you ever forgive yourself?”

  Ji-an didn’t answer.

  And Ha-neul didn’t wait for one. She simply patted Ji-an’s shoulder and made her way to the door.

  “Think about it,” she said before leaving.

  As the door clicked shut, Ji-an let out a shaky breath.

  "If I walk away now… will I ever forgive myself?"

  Joon-ho leaned back in his leather chair, fingers drumming rhythmically against the polished surface of his desk. The city skyline stretched beyond his office window, but his focus remained on the swirling chaos of reports and documents in front of him.

  Pressuring Seo Ji-an would only push her further away. He knew that much. Instead, he needed to create the perfect stage for her debut—one where she couldn’t find any excuse to refuse.

  That meant one thing.

  Cleaning up the mess that was IMFG.

  Joon-ho exhaled, flipping through the latest report on internal corruption. His agency had the resources, the connections, and the name—but right now, it was rotting from the inside. If he wanted Ji-an to stand on the biggest stage possible, he needed to make sure IMFG was worthy of her.

  “Sir,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. Yoo Seul-bi, his sharp-witted secretary, stepped into the office. “You asked for updates on the internal audit.”

  “Give me the short version.”

  Seul-bi placed a thick folder on his desk. “As expected, several board members have been siphoning money through fake contracts. We’ve traced at least three cases of embezzlement.”

  Joon-ho’s expression darkened. “Names?”

  Seul-bi flipped to a marked page. “Director Kim Hae-sung and CFO Jung Woo-bin have been diverting company funds into ghost projects. But there’s another issue—Director Choi Min-seok.”

  Joon-ho’s fingers stilled. “Choi? The Marketing Head? What did he do?”

  Seul-bi hesitated for a moment. “He’s not involved in the embezzlement, but he’s been selling IMFG’s brand to the highest bidder.”

  Joon-ho’s jaw tightened. “Explain.”

  “He’s been approving marketing deals with subpar brands just because they offer bigger kickbacks,” she continued. “Instead of positioning IMFG as a premium agency, he’s cheapening our image by signing random endorsement deals. Some of our A-list models are already complaining.”

  Joon-ho scoffed. “So he’s not stealing money, but he’s selling our reputation.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Exactly.”

  Joon-ho let out a slow, controlled breath. He couldn’t afford two problems at once—corruption in the finances and a Marketing Head dragging the company’s prestige through the mud.

  “What about the talent roster?” he asked.

  Seul-bi turned to another page. “A lot of non-performing artists. Some haven’t booked a major campaign in over six months, and a few were brought in purely through connections.”

  Joon-ho leaned back, rubbing his temple. “Dead weight.”

  IMFG had become a dumping ground for talentless models and so-called celebrities—some brought in through shady connections, others just pretty faces plucked straight from nightclubs to entertain sleazy executives. He had no patience for it.

  “We’re cutting all non-performing artists. If they haven’t booked a decent gig in six months and have no potential, they’re out,” he ordered.

  Seul-bi smirked. “That’ll piss off some board members.”

  “Let them whine,” Joon-ho said dismissively. “Tell them this playboy CEO just wants to play.”

  Seul-bi stifled a laugh. “And the useless team members?”

  “Fire them.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Even if they have connections?”

  “Especially if they have connections,” he replied. “I don’t need leeches. Only people who can actually do their damn job.”

  Seul-bi nodded, already making a mental list.

  Joon-ho turned to the next phase of his plan. “Get Park Yeon-jin in here too. I want both of you to rebuild my core team—the best talent managers, PR specialists, and industry professionals. Even if we have to steal them from other agencies.”

  A slow, satisfied smirk spread across Seul-bi’s lips. “I love when you go full ruthless mode.”

  Joon-ho shot her an unimpressed look. “Just do your job.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As she walked out, Joon-ho glanced back at the city skyline, his mind already on the next move.

  By the time he was done, IMFG would be unrecognizable.

  And when Ji-an saw the empire he rebuilt…

  She’d have no reason to say no.

  The boardroom was thick with tension. Joon-ho sat at the head of the long, polished table, fingers interlaced, expression unreadable. Across from him, Director Kim Hae-sung, CFO Jung Woo-bin, and Director Choi Min-seok glared at him, backed by a few other board members who had grown far too comfortable in their positions.

  “We need to talk about your reckless decisions,” Kim Hae-sung began, his voice sharp. “You think you can just walk in here and start firing people as you please?”

  “I don’t think, Director Kim,” Kang Joon-ho said smoothly. “I know.”

  Jung Woo-bin scoffed. “This company doesn’t belong to you alone, CEO Kang. You’re making irrational decisions—cutting valuable team members, firing talent that we’ve cultivated for years—”

  “Valuable?” Joon-ho leaned forward, his cold gaze locking onto the CFO. “You mean the freeloaders who haven’t booked a single campaign in six months? The ‘talent’ who were only signed because they shared a bed with some director?”

  A murmur rippled through the room, but Jung Woo-bin didn’t back down. “We’ve built IMFG with our connections, our hard work. You can’t just—”

  “I can and I will,” Joon-ho cut in. “Unless you’d rather I expose where the company’s money has been going.”

  Silence.

  Jung Woo-bin’s face paled slightly. Kim Hae-sung cleared his throat. “Look, Joon-ho—”

  “CEO Kang.”

  Kim Hae-sung’s jaw tightened. “Fine. CEO Kang. We understand you want to restructure, but some of the people you’ve dismissed—”

  “They’re dead weight.”

  “They’re our people,” Jung Woo-bin snapped.

  Joon-ho smirked. “Oh, I know. They were your people. The ones funneling money into fake projects. The ones using IMFG as their personal playground. Shall I name more?”

  Kim Hae-sung’s fist clenched, but it was Choi Min-seok who finally spoke up.

  “This is ridiculous,” Choi muttered, shaking his head. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Joon-ho turned to him, expression unreadable. “Haven’t you?”

  Choi Min-seok scoffed. “I’ve done my job. I brought in brand deals. I didn’t touch company money like those two.” He shot a glare at Jung Woo-bin and Kim Hae-sung. “I helped increase IMFG’s exposure.”

  Yoo Seul-bi, who had been quietly flipping through documents at Joon-ho’s side, suddenly chuckled. “Is that what you call it, Director Choi?” She glanced up, smirking. “Because according to several models, what you actually did was sell IMFG’s prestige to the highest bidder—and I quote, ‘entertain PDs in exchange for shady sponsorships.’”

  A beat of silence.

  Choi Min-seok’s face turned red. “T-That’s a baseless accusation! Who said that?!”

  Joon-ho slid a file across the table. “I have testimonies. Direct from the models you used to entertain those producers. Some of them were underaged at the time, by the way.”

  The room went still.

  Min-seok’s hands clenched into fists. “This is a setup.”

  “Then sue me,” Joon-ho challenged, his voice calm. “Go ahead. Let’s take this to court. Let’s put your name and all your little backdoor deals in the headlines. See how many brands still want to be associated with you.”

  Beads of sweat formed on Min-seok’s forehead.

  Kim Hae-sung, trying to shift the focus, growled, “You can’t just fire directors without a proper board decision!”

  Joon-ho smirked. “Then I won’t fire you.” He stood, adjusting his suit. “I’ll just release everything to the press.”

  Silence crashed down like a hammer.

  Jung Woo-bin’s face twisted. “You—”

  “You have two options, gentlemen,” Joon-ho continued, his voice smooth but deadly. “Resign quietly, or let the world know exactly what you've been doing.”

  Kim Hae-sung opened his mouth, but before he could speak, one of the lesser board members, Director Oh, blurted out in frustration, “You even kicked out my girl!”

  The room turned to him.

  Yoo Seul-bi raised an eyebrow. “Your girl?”

  Director Oh hesitated. “I mean… you fired one of my recruits.”

  Seul-bi smirked. “You mean your mistress?”

  Director Oh’s face burned with embarrassment. A few of the other board members shifted uncomfortably.

  Joon-ho exhaled, looking at the pathetic display in front of him.

  “I’m done with this conversation,” he said, turning his back on them. “I expect your resignations on my desk by morning. If not…” He glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s see who survives the media storm.”

  With that, he walked out, leaving the boardroom in absolute chaos.

  Ji-an sat curled up on the couch, staring at her phone screen. Her fingers hovered over her manager’s contact, hesitating. She had spent days battling herself, replaying old memories like a broken record—her betrayal, the moment she lost everything, the suffocating loneliness that followed.

  But then there were other memories, too. The electric thrill of stepping onto the stage. The deafening cheers of fans calling her name. The dream she had once lived and loved.

  She clenched her phone tightly. What if…?

  Taking a deep breath, she tapped the call button. The line barely rang twice before Kang Ha-neul answered.

  "Ji-an?" Her voice was filled with surprise. It had been days since Ji-an last spoke to her.

  "Unnie…" Ji-an hesitated. A lump formed in her throat. "Tell me about the offer. Joon-ho’s offer."

  Silence.

  Then, Ha-neul exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and something close to amusement. "Took you long enough."

  Ji-an’s grip on the phone tightened. "I’m not saying yes. I just…" She swallowed. "I just need to know."

  Ha-neul didn’t press her. She knew better than anyone how fragile Ji-an still was. "Alright. I’ll send you the details. But Ji-an… if you’re asking, it means you’re already considering it."

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she?

  "Just… send it."

  Ha-neul chuckled softly. "Got it. And one more thing—Joon-ho is going to take this as a good sign."

  Ji-an sighed. "Of course, he will."

  Later that night, Ha-neul sighed as she pressed the phone to her ear. The call barely rang twice before Kang Joon-ho answered.

  "She called, didn’t she?" His voice was smug, like he had been expecting it.

  "Yeah, she did." Ha-neul leaned against her desk. "But don’t get ahead of yourself. She just asked for details, nothing more."

  Joon-ho chuckled. "That’s more than enough. She wouldn’t have asked if she wasn’t considering it."

  Ha-neul rolled her eyes. "You sound way too confident about this."

  "Because I know her," he said smoothly. "Now, we need to give her a push."

  Ha-neul frowned. "What kind of push?"

  "Book a suite at IMFG Hotel. Same place her former group is holding their press conference."

  Ha-neul went rigid. "You’re kidding."

  "I’m not."

  "Joon-ho, you’re setting her up." Her voice sharpened. "She’s barely dipping her toes into this, and you want to throw her into the deep end?"

  "She won’t move forward if she keeps running away," he said, his voice calm but firm. "This is an opportunity. She can face them on her own terms, see how much things have changed. If she can’t handle it, she’s not ready for the industry again."

  Ha-neul hated to admit that he had a point. But that didn’t make it any less cruel.

  She sighed, rubbing her temple. "You’re not wrong, but that doesn’t mean I like it."

  "You don’t have to like it," Joon-ho said simply. "You just have to make the arrangements."

  She clicked her tongue. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

  Joon-ho smirked. "I’ve heard."

  A heavy silence hung between them. Finally, Ha-neul exhaled. "Fine. I’ll do it. But if this backfires, you’re the one explaining it to her."

  "Noted." Joon-ho’s voice carried amusement. "Let me know when everything’s set."

  Ha-neul ended the call with a frustrated sigh. She still didn’t like this plan, but deep down, she knew that Joon-ho wasn’t doing this just to be cruel. He genuinely believed Ji-an needed this.

  She just hoped he was right.

  Support the Novel & Get Early Access! ??

  Check my progress & support here: