Lost Identity

Chapter 6: Car Show

Chapter 6: Car Show

Yeonwha nodded, watching her go. "Sure."

As Hana disappeared around the corner, Yeonwha slowly sank onto the sofa. Her eyes trailed across the room, messy pillows, the tilted TV remote, the lingering silence that returned too fast.

Her playful expression faded into something more thoughtful.

How does it feel to lose your memories in a home where politics and power rule the air you breathe?

She sighed softly. There was pity in her eyes-but also relief.

She was honestly shocked that the sponsor allowed Hana to go to a boarding school. It wasn't just rare. It was... unheard of.

But maybe, just maybe, it was a start.

Yeonwha looked around the scattered room again-and this time, she chuckled to herself.

"She turned this place upside down." Pinning the blame on only Hana

The heavy double doors swing open as Hana steps out, freshly dressed in a crisp cream blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans. Her damp hair brushes her shoulders, and a quiet spark glows behind her eyes. She's ready to escape- even just for a moment.

YEONWHA, waiting near the car, lifts her head and smiles softly.

"Someone's looking like a runway model today."

Hana says nothing. Her fingers tug at her sleeves, her feet moving faster than her thoughts.

The mansion looms behind them, pristine and towering. Guards in dark suits line the front steps like statues, eyes forward, expressionless. No one speaks.

Yeonwha unlocks the car with a soft beep. The vehicle, sleek black Genesis GV80 with matte finish and cream interior-glimmers under the sun. It's a luxury, no doubt. But not the kind that screams.

It whispers.

They slide in. The door closes with a soft thud.

Yeonwha starts the engine. The dashboard lights up like a spaceship, the car purring like a well-fed cat. Hana leans back in her seat, exhaling quietly.

She doesn't say it, but it's clear.

This house is suffocating. This ride feels like air.

As the car pulls forward, the front gates begin to open slowly, smoothly, and automatically. Polished metal, engraved with a golden L, parts to reveal the outside world.

The car rolls through with practiced grace.

Then-

VROOM.

Behind them, three majestic luxury cars roll forward.

First, a Rolls-Royce Phantom-midnight blue with tinted windows.

Then, a sleek Bentley Flying Spur, its chrome trim gleaming like a blade in the sun.

Finally, a black Maybach S580, moving like a panther through shadows.

They follow silently, like shadows born from wealth and power.

Yeonwha's eyes flick towards the rearview mirror. Her jaw tightens.

"What the hell...?"

Hana doesn't look back. Her arms are crossed, her eyes trained on the road ahead. But her tone is icy.

"They're not stopping us. They're just... watching."

Yeonwha's brows lift. She swallows.

"Your sponsor doesn't play around, huh?"

Hana stays silent.

Yeonwha glances sideways, truly looking at her, the fragile strength, the hidden fury, the eyes too old for sixteen.

"Who are you...?"

The words are quiet. Almost like a whisper meant only for herself.

The caravan drives on, cutting through the quiet suburban roads like royalty, leaving behind the suffocating silence of the estate.

From above, the scene would look like a queen escaping her gilded prison, escorted by wolves dressed in silk.

---

They headed straight to The Orchid Galleria, a luxurious lifestyle complex nestled in downtown Seoul's favorite shopping destination for chaebol heirs and rising idols. Glass towers shimmered like diamonds under the afternoon sun, the building's sleek architecture almost intimidating. Hana stared at it through the window, a mix of awe and nervousness in her chest. She had never been here before-at least, not that she remembered.

The drive itself was wild.

Yeonwha, gripping the wheel with a devilish grin, revved up the engine of the black Maybach, weaving playfully through the sparse traffic on the express lane. The city blurred into a stream of color and light. Hana laughed, surprised at the thrill. "You drive like you're in an action movie!"

"I aim to entertain," Yeonwha winked, hitting the accelerator. The engine purred like a beast as the car surged forward.

Behind them, three luxury cars kept up effortlessly, zigzagging with military precision. They weren't just guards; they were professionals. Even their fun looked choreographed. One of them flicked the headlights playfully, challenging Yeonwha.

Oh, ho-did he just blink at me?" she said, dramatically gasping. "Watch this."

Yeonwha made a sharp turn into a side street shortcut, tires screeching as Hana squealed in excitement, gripping the seat. The guards tailed her smoothly, as if they had rehearsed this chase a hundred times.

It wasn't a convoy- it was a parade. One that made heads turn.

At a red light, a couple of teenagers took out their phones to record. "Is that an idol?" one whispered, squinting toward the backseat. Hana instinctively ducked, her cheeks warm.

"Famous already, don't worry, they won't see you," Yeonwha teased.

Hana rolled her eyes but smiled. Her heart hadn't felt this light in days.

As they approached the Orchid Galleria, the valet staff snapped to attention. The Maybach rolled in first, its body gleaming. The moment it stopped, a team of suited security members from the mall stepped forward in sync-already briefed. The guards behind them parked with elegance, stepping out in unison, sunglasses on, expressions unreadable.

It was a scene out of a movie.

And Hana was at the center of it.

She stepped out of the car slowly, her sneakers hitting the polished marble driveway. People looked. Some took photos. She ignored it. All she could hear was the rapid beat of her own heart-and Yeonwha's voice beside her.

"Let's go get you a uniform, princess," she said, looping her arm into Hana's. "We've got a new school to ruin."

---

The hotel suite was drenched in gold. Velvet curtains caught the mid-afternoon sun, casting soft shadows over the crystal glassware and untouched fruit platters. Laughter echoed from the hallway, but inside, the atmosphere was far from warm.

Sun-Woo stood near the window, dressed in tailored black. A slim woman lounged across the expensive couch behind him, draped in silk and perfume. Her name was Seo Hae-jin, South Korea's sweetheart - adored by millions, feared by those who truly knew her. She was beautiful, powerful, and yet, at this moment, irrelevant.

"You're quiet today," Hae-jin said, stretching like a cat. Her eyes trailed the outline of his shark tattoo peeking from beneath his collarbone. She smiled faintly. "That tattoo still makes headlines."

Sun-Woo didn't respond. His fingers tightened around a glass of untouched whiskey.

"I heard your sister's going to school," she added, her voice low and teasing. "How nice, my little sister also goes there, she will make good friends."

Still nothing.

She stood, moving to wrap her arms around his waist. "You've been so distracted lately. Is it because of her?"

A pause. Then he turned, gently prying her hands off him.

"You talk too much," he said flatly.

That smile of hers cracked. "Excuse me?"

"You always have." His voice was calm, but his eyes were ice. "All this glitter, all this fame... yet still so cheap inside."

Her breath caught. It wasn't anger in his tone - it was indifference. Worse.

"I'm not one of your little girls who cry for attention, Sun-Woo. Don't think you can insult me and get away with it."

"I don't think," he replied smoothly, setting down the untouched drink. "I know."

He turned his back on her and walked toward the door.

Before leaving, he said without turning, "Tell your manager thanks for the script. I'll pretend I never saw it."

The door closed behind him.

Inside, Hae-jin stood frozen, her pride bleeding in silence. She had power, clout, and men lining up - but Sun-Woo? He looked at her like dust.

---

Sun-Woo pushed open the heavy glass door of the dimly lit bar, the murmur of low conversations and clinking glasses wrapping around him like a velvet curtain. The room was thick with the scent of expensive whiskey and leather, a sanctuary for those who ruled the city's shadows.

His friends glanced up, nodding curtly. They knew the weight he carried but never dared pry.

Sliding onto a worn leather stool, Sun-Woo let out a slow breath. "Hana's not ready," he said quietly, voice rough. "Her memories are fractured - and they're sending her off to that boarding school. How's she supposed to survive in that place when she's still broken?"

A friend snorted. "That wild child? Don't worry, she will be OK. You worry too much about her."

Sun-Woo's jaw clenched. "Why wouldn't I? She is my sister after all. The worst part is her current health issues."

The conversation drifted to other things - politics, alliances, rumors - but Sun-Woo's mind was tethered to Hana's fragile existence. Eventually, he slipped away unnoticed, heading up to the rooftop for a moment of solitude.

The cool night air hit him like a slap. He pulled his coat tighter, staring out at the glittering cityscape, every light a reminder of the dangerous game they all played.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. Instead, with steady fingers, he dialed a number only a few knew.

The line rang, tension pulsing with every beep.

Then, a familiar voice - low, sharp, unyielding.

"Dad."