The Glass Tower

ChapterThree

Han Jiwon hated the smell of fear.

You couldn’t see it, but you could “feel” it. It hung in the air of the fancy lounge long after everyone stopped talking. It was a sour smell. Like sweat and spilled wine and something gone bad underneath.

Jiwon took a slow breath in and let it out carefully.

“Pathetic,” she thought to herself.

Fear just irritated her. It always had.

Her eyes scanned the room, noticing every little detail. Over in the corner, Lee Sohee was sitting ramrod straight on a chair, her daughter practically fused to her chest like a human shield.

“Mommy…” the little girl mumbled, half-asleep.

“Shhh, it’s okay. Just sleep,” Sohee whispered back, but her own voice was trembling.

“WEAK”, Jiwon thought, dismissing her.

Then there was Kang Minseok. He was pretending to fix his cufflinks again by the drinks table. His shirt collar was dark with sweat.

“Get a grip”, she mentally chided him. “You look guilty standing still.”

Jiwon adjusted herself on the sofa, crossing her legs. Back straight, shoulders loose, face a mask of calm.

She wasn’t scared.

Scared was for people who had something to lose, or for people who never learned how to fight. She was neither.

Her gaze drifted over to Naomi Choi. The widow just sat there, hands in her lap, perfectly still. Too still.

“Calm”, Jiwon noted. “I’ll give her that.”

But she’d seen that act before. It was the kind of calm people put on like armor, thinking it makes them look innocent.

Fine. If Naomi wanted to play the mysterious, composed widow, that was her move. Jiwon knew she was holding better cards.

Her husband, Jihoon, had left earlier, looking pale and sick. She hadn’t bothered stopping him.

“He was useful once”, she thought, without any real feeling.

Jihoon was a brilliant surgeon. A great reputation. A kind smile. Everyone loved him.

He was the perfect front.

But that’s all he was—a front. A nice painting to hang on the wall.

“He wasn’t built for real life”, she reminded herself. Not for the messy, bloody parts.

Scalpels could fix bodies. They couldn’t build empires.

The law could. Power could.

And her talent for bending the truth until it broke was what had gotten her this far.

Tonight, she saw a c***k in the wall. An opportunity.

“THE GAME”

Detective Yoon was standing a few feet away, talking quietly with one of his officers, scribbling in his notebook. Every so often, his eyes would lift and land squarely on Naomi.

“She’s his target”, Jiwon observed.

Naomi didn’t react. No fidgeting. No tears. Nothing.

“She thinks silence will protect her”, Jiwon mused. It usually does the opposite.

Jiwon knew better than to believe the obvious suspect was the right one. In her experience, the truth loved to hide just behind whatever was most convenient.

She leaned slightly toward Kang Minseok, her voice a low murmur only he could hear.

“You’re shaking,” she said. “Careful. People will think you’re the one who pushed him.”

Minseok went rigid, his eyes wide as he looked at her. “That’s not funny, Jiwon.”

“I’m not laughing.” She took a slow sip from her glass. “What were you and the victim really talking about before he fell?”

He swallowed hard. “Business. I told you.”

She tilted her head. “Business discussions don’t make a man sweat through a custom shirt.”

He had nothing to say to that.

Jiwon watched him coolly. Men like Minseok always broke. All polish, no substance. You just had to apply the right pressure.

“Mrs. Han?”

She turned smoothly at Detective Yoon’s voice, her polite smile already in place.

“Yes, Detective?”

“You were standing closest to Mr. Kang when it happened,” Yoon said. “Did you notice anything unusual?”

Jiwon made a show of thinking, tapping a finger lightly against her glass.

“Just the usual party chaos,” she said. “Music, chatter, people talking over each other. I didn’t see anyone go near the balcony.”

It wasn’t a lie.

She hadn’t seen anyone clearly.

But she had seen a shadow. A flicker of movement. A hand, maybe, gripping the railing right before the scream.

She kept that to herself.

For now.

Detective Yoon studied her face. “If you remember anything else, you’ll let me know.”

“Of course,” she replied, all sweet cooperation.

Later, when the room’s attention had shifted, Jiwon slipped into one of the Tower’s private sitting rooms. She locked the door behind her. The sudden silence felt thick.

She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.

“Oppa,” she said softly when he answered. “It’s me.”

A pause on the line.

“Why are you calling now?” a gruff voice asked.

“Don’t start,” she replied. “You’ve seen the news?”

“I heard.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “Then you see it. Everyone’s looking at Naomi Choi. But she’s not the problem.”

Another pause. “Then who is?”

“Kang Minseok,” Jiwon said, calm and clear. “He’s already coming apart. Push him a little, and he’ll dig his own grave.”

“And what’s in it for you?” the voice asked.

Jiwon walked to the window, looking down at the city lights far below the Glass Tower.

“What’s always in it for us?” she whispered. “Power.”

The line went dead.

Satisfied, she put her phone away.

When she returned to the lounge, Lee Sohee was by the grand piano, her daughter asleep in her lap. Jiwon walked over.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” Jiwon said, her voice low.

Sohee looked up, startled. “I… I have nowhere else to go.”

“Then find somewhere,” Jiwon said, her tone sharp. “This place devours people like you.”

Sohee’s eyes welled up. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Jiwon said with a thin, humorless smile, “it’s more interesting to watch someone fight than to watch them break.”

She walked away, already thinking about how desperation could be shaped into a useful tool.

Hours later, when they were finally allowed to go back to their apartments, the sky was starting to lighten. Jiwon walked into her dark suite and stopped cold.

A plain white envelope lay on the floor, just inside the door.

Her heart gave a hard, sudden thump.

She picked it up, tore it open, and read the single line inside:

“You didn’t mention how much you really saw. Say a word, and you’re next.”

Jiwon didn’t move.

Someone knew.

Someone had been watching her, too.

She just tore the note into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet. She stood at the sink, staring at her own flawless reflection in the mirror.

Untouchable.

In control.

But underneath it all, she understood. This wasn’t just a threat.

It was the opening move.

If The Glass Tower Resident wanted to play this game, then Han Jiwon would make damn sure she ended up holding all the cards.