Both Joo Won and Hana back at Joo Won's apartment with the damning video digitized on a mere flash drive at a local shop....
Hana and Joo Won decided to watch the video on his laptop as soon as they returned home. Hana plugged the flash drive into the laptop, locating the file, looked at Joo Won sat on the couch, "Ready?"
He gave a tight nod. "Yes."
She pressed play. A slightly slanted, grainy shot from a camcorder as if left on a distant table. Yet despite the angle and the soft hum of the recording, every detail was painfully clear.
There it was, a replay of the same day—Joo Won on his knees, the Chairman's rage contorting his face, his eyes fiery and his mouth angry, he said, "You bastard!! How dare you erase my Bae Hoon's memories. I should kill you for this."
Then, the sharp arc of a whiskey glass flying toward him meant to hurt Joo Won but by fate's intervention, the little boy was spared. The glass hit the floor, just inches away. The boy's body quivered slightly.
The sound of glass hitting the floor made Hana flinch, her hand flying to her mouth. Joo Won had never told her this. She always knew as an heir to a multi trillion-dollar business, the amount of pressure Bae Hoon must be under. But she never knew the horrible treatment the little boy received behind the closed door 'meetings', an unlucky orphan boy who had the bad luck of sharing the same face with Hana's childhood crush Bae Hoon.
Her chest tightened. She looked at him—this man who carried so much pain behind his calm eyes—and felt a wave of fierce, aching tenderness. Her brows drew together, corners of her lips turn downward slightly with unspoken sorrow. I should have seen it. I should have known.
Without a word, she moved closer, leaning her head against his shoulder—a firm slope that seemed so vulnerable. She linked her arm through his, drawing it against herself, holding him there, safe between the warmth of her arms and the gentle swell of her chest.
The Chairman's voice slurred with whiskey and venom—the disgust evident from outside the screen, years after.
"You think you are so precious?" he sneered, looming over the kneeling form of a young Joo Won. "No. You are a dirty bastard. You were purchased. A transaction. The orphanage warden was more than happy to accept my money in exchange for a bastard boy like you." He turned to Secretary Baek, "My most trusted servant handled the details, of course I paid him too. We Hwangs don't dirty our own hands with bastards like you." As the Chairman laughed, Secretary Baek stood by, obedient and still as a machine. No expression.
Hana's grip on Joo Won's arm tightened. Joo Won knew what was coming next. He cupped Hana's hand tighter.
A drunken smirk twisted the Chairman's lips suggesting that Hana should be planted by the side of this bastard so that she can tell him how Bae Hoon behaves. Chairman even made a snide remark with a smirk how Baek's daughter roams around Joo Won thinking he is Bae Hoon. He chuckled, a low, ugly sound. "Though it seems similar kinds flock together. The orphan bastard and the secretary's daughter... how fitting."
Joo Won gently paused the video. He knew. He could see the devastating truth solidifying in Hana's eyes, shattering the image of the father she thought she knew.
Her mind raced, a torrent of horrifying realizations:
1) Her own father was not just an employee; he was an accomplice to kidnapping and a kidnapper.
2) Every innocent detail she had ever shared about Joo Won—his habits, his worries—had been a report to her father, who undoubtedly delivered it straight to the Chairman. She had been a tool, a spy, completely unaware.
3) Her closeness to Joo Won hadn't been a friendship; it had been, in the most twisted way, exactly what the monsters in charge had wanted. They had used her.
The proof was undeniable. It was all there: the arrogance, the crime, the manipulation. How could she not believe it? The truth wasn't just spoken; it was boasted. She had doubted Joo Won's words about all this, about her father.
Joo Won pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head as he gently drew her into the solid warmth of his chest. He held her there, against the steady beat of his heart—a silent promise.
He knew she needed this. Not words, not explanations. Just this: the unwavering certainty that she was not a tool, not a pawn in their game. She was Hana. She was loved. She was his truest friend. A single tear escaped Hana's left eye, tracing a silent path down her cheek. Then another followed. And another with her hands fisted tightly in the fabric of Joo Won's shirt. He let her cry in his embrace for some time.
After calming down, Hana clicked on play. The video continued to play, the silence in the room after the Chairman and Secretary Baek's exit feeling heavier than their presence.
Then, a sound broke through—soft, broken. A sob. Then another. A young, shattered voice choked out, "Ji Woo... Ji Woo..." It was a plea, a cry for the one friend who felt a world away. Even in his despair, the boy remained on his knees, as if conditioned to wait for a permission to move that would never come.
Eventually, the crying subsided into ragged, shaky breaths. He began to rise, but a sharp, pained gasp escaped him—a soft "Ah—" as a shard of glass bit into his knee. The pain, however, seemed distant, trivial compared to the emotional tempest he had just endured.
With a chilling, quiet practicality, the young Joo Won began cleaning. He carefully gathered the larger pieces of glass, his movements slow and precise despite his trembling hands. Finding no suitable tool, he did the only thing he could—he pulled off his t-shirt, using the soft fabric to sweep the smaller, glittering shards into a pile before depositing them into the dustbin. He then pulled the shirt back on. Even the young Joo Won felt more mature than the two adults that were there before.
Finally, he approached the camcorder. The lens captured his tear-streaked face coming into focus—his eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks flushed and wet. His small chest still hitched with the aftershocks of his tears, each breath a visible effort. But the loud cries were gone, replaced by a quiet, terrifyingly empty stillness.
He stared into the lens for a moment—a lost boy staring into a future only he could see—before the screen finally cut to black after the young boy turned it off.
Hana remembered seeing a scar on Joo Won's knee, now she reconnects it being from this scene. But there were many such scars on Joo Won's forehead, hands, legs, back which a young Hana thought maybe from playing. It didn't take long for Hana to painfully realize that Joo Won not only had been a victim of psychological torment but also of physical violence at the hands of those she knew was his family. She turned to Joo Won, her voice low but sharp as the glass that once cut him.
"These monsters... They need to be punished." Her gaze locked onto his, fierce and unyielding. "You promise me you'll help us. Promise you won't back down. Not now. Not after everything."
It wasn't a question. It was a vow—one she demanded they make together. Joo Won answered with a single, firm nod.
They held each other, finding solace in the quiet. Hana's fingers softly traced the history of his scars, tracing them with a touch so gentle it felt like an invisible balm.
When her hand rose to the deep, small scar on his forehead, she found his eyes waiting—he had been watching her, utterly captivated, all along.
In the soft light emitting from the laptop, Hana's red face due to crying, her lips, her sparkling eyes, seemed to draw Joo Won for a kiss. With his gaze fix on her lips, he gently leaned in for a kiss after a storm as if to regain strength. Hana now getting back her composure shared a same gaze to Joo Won's lips. Just as they were about lock into a kiss, Hana's phone rang.
Ji Woo - Video Call
She pulled back slightly, flustered, smoothing her hair with quick fingers before answering. She held the phone up, framing both their faces in the screen.
"Ji Woo?"
On the screen, Ji Woo's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at seeing them so close. A knowing, teasing smile touched his lips, though he held back a full grin.
"I just sent you a photo," he said, his tone light but purposeful. "So Hee found it in Bae Hoon's room earlier. It'll help our case. Check it out, please."
He ended the call with subtle final words, Happy New Year to both of you. Meaning only understood by Joo Won, he also smiled after disconnecting the call.
Hana opened her notification to find the death certificate of Bae Hoon.
Joo Won's eyes scanned the photo, a slow, determined smile easing onto his face. He said softly. "It just became a lot easier."
Without another word, he wrapped his arms around Hana from behind, pulling her into a warm embrace as they sat on the couch. His voice was tender, full of a gratitude that ran deeper than words.
"Telling you the truth," he murmured near her ear, "was the best decision of my life. You brought me back to Ji Woo. You brought me back to myself. You... saw me. The real me." He paused, holding her just a little tighter. "Happy New Year, Hana. Thank you for the best gift I've ever had."
Hana leaned into his touch and gave him a peck on his cheek as a welcome, her voice quiet but clear when she spoke. "Joo Won... can I stay here tonight? I... I can't go home. Not yet. Not after what I just learned about my father."
Joo Won's eyes widened almost comically. Stay? Here? Overnight? A sudden, unbidden wave of thoughts—intimate, flustered, wholly inappropriate—flooded his mind. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to physically dispel them.
Clearing his throat, he nodded, his voice a notch higher than usual. "Of—of course. You take the bedroom. I'll sleep on the couch."
He was already rearranging the pillows on the couch, determined to be nothing less than a gentleman to his beloved—even if his imagination was briefly, undeniably, not.
Hana, a little disappointed at his decent offer, "what if you sleep on the bed?"
Joo Won- "No no, you are a lady and you are my girlfriend. So it is my duty to let you sleep comfortably. Couch is not comfortable."
"Exactly," she repeated softly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "The couch isn't comfortable. The bed is. And I am your girlfriend." That's the first time Hana uttered the term.
For a smart man like Joo Won, it took more than a few minutes to sink in what Hana wanted. He, without saying anything, throwing confusing looks at Hana like a puppy tilts its head went to pour himself a cup of water. While he closed the fridge, seeing the hazy photo of himself and Hana taken on the eve of Christmas stuck on the fridge door, it became clear.
He didn't drink the water.
Instead, he turned, his expression shifting from confusion to tender clarity. In three swift strides, he was back where she was sitting. Without a word, he swept her up into his arms—a bridal carry that made her gasp softly before she relaxed against him, looping her arms around his neck.
Joo Won didn't even think of this day even in his imagination. His heart was beating faster than ever.
He carried her into his bedroom and turned off the lights.
The door clicks shut behind them, and for a moment they simply stand there, the backs of his fingers tracing the line of her jaw.
He turns her gently so her back is to the bed. Her knees hit the mattress edge, and she sinks down onto it, looking up at him. He kneels in front of her, slowly, as if approaching something sacred.
"Hana," he utters —soft, almost a question.
"Hmm?" She replies, even softer.
He smiles, and leans in to kiss her—slower, deeper, his hand sliding into her hair. She lies back, pulling him with her, and the mattress sighs under their weight.
The rest unfolds like a conversation neither of them knew they'd been waiting to have.
He learns the map of her—the dip of her waist, the tremble at her hip when his mouth finds her collarbone. She learns the weight of him, the way he says her name like it grounds him. The dress slips off easily, pooling on the floor like spilled wine. His hands are careful but not tentative—reverent but not fragile.
When it happens—when the last walls come down, when breath turns to gasps and gasps turn to soft cries muffled against each other's shoulders—it isn't explosive. It's a slow, deep tide. A resolution. A beginning.
Afterward, they lie tangled in the sheets, her head on his chest, his hand tracing lazy circles on her bare back.
There, wrapped in the quiet of the new year's first night, they found comfort not in separate spaces, but in the warm, willing embrace of one another—no more hiding, no more fear, just two hearts learning to trust, to heal, and to love and two naked bodies feeling the warmth of each other.
There were no more roles to play, no masks to wear. Here, in the silent intimacy of his room, they were simply Joo Won and Hana—broken, found, and fiercely real. And for the first time that night, neither felt alone.