As Jason stared at the woman in his chair, mories stirred in the back of his mind.
What is she doing here?
His gaze drifted slightly, catching Daisy standing off to the side, her head tilted down. A fresh red mark blood on her left cheek—unmistakably from a slap.
Jason’s expression hardened.
The woman seated in his chair wore a smug grin, legs crossed like she owned the place. Long dark hair, flawless makeup, and eyes red full of pride.
Jessy Yun.
His sister.
Or more accurately, one of them. Jason was a triplet—two girls and one boy . Jessy, the loud one. The entitled one. The youngest of the three by (2mins).
She noticed his gaze shift toward Daisy and tilted her head mockingly.
"Your servant forgot her place. Dared to talk back to a Yun—clearly you haven’t trained her prope—"
Slap!
A sharp crack echoed across the room. Jessy’s head jerked to the side, her cheek stinging.
It took her a mont to process what had happened. She blinked, stunned, then slowly raised a trembling hand to her face.
"You dog, you dare hit m—"
Slap!
Another echo.
Daisy flinched in the corner, eyes wide.
Slap.
"You dare—"
Slap.
"I’m goi—"
Slap.
Jessy’s voice beca shrill, her eyes burning with disbelief. Jason’s face, however, was impassive. Cold. As if this wasn’t his sister, but so stranger who’d crossed the line.
Elsewhere in the building, footsteps echoed lightly as a woman exited the bathroom. She dried her hands calmly, black hair draping over one shoulder, crimson eyes alert.
Jane Yun.
Jason’s oldest sister—by one minute. Cool, sharp, poised. She walked through the hallway, offering greetings.
"Good morning, Young Lady Yun."
"Morning, Claire," Jane replied with a pleasant smile.
The receptionist paused. "You... rembered my na?"
Jane didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Claire wasn’t even wearing her na tag.
Perfect mory, Jane mused silently. It’s only natural.
She walked with the poise of soone who had never once questioned her own ability. Perfect grades. Perfect track record. The favorite child. Jane wasn’t arrogant—she was certain.
But as she approached Jason’s office, her expression faltered.
Slap!
Her heel froze mid-step. That sound... not again.
She opened the door.
"Jessy," she began sternly, "how many tis have I told you—"
But the scene before her wasn’t what she expected.
The one delivering the slaps wasn’t Jessy.
It was Jason.
Slap!
Jessy’s hair flew across her face, her mouth trembling.
Jane blinked.
In all their years growing up, Jason never once fought back. He’d yell, maybe. Run off crying. But never this.
Never this calm, cold fury.
"Jason," Jane said softly, stepping inside. "I know she upset you, but she’s still your sister. You can’t just—"
"I’ll stop," Jason replied, "when I hear an apology."
"Apologize? You want to—"
Slap.
"How dar—"
Slap.
"I’ll never—"
Slap.
Jason raised his hand again, but this ti Daisy rushed forward and caught his wrist mid-air.
She shook her head gently.
Jason lowered his hand. "You’re lucky Daisy spared you," he muttered. "But if you ever touch what’s mine again, I’ll deal with you personally."
Jessy stood up, face red, both from the slaps and the humiliation. She grabbed a cloth off the desk and stord out, muttering curses under her breath.
Jane, anwhile, remained still—processing.
Jason had just physically slapped Jessy multiple tis in front of her. That wasn’t the Jason she rembered.
She always thought she understood her brother. After all, she’d orchestrated most of the chaos growing up—secretly fueling Jessy and Jason’s argunts while swooping in as the "mature" one to diate. The parents always sided with her.
Jason was never strong enough to resist. Until now.
"Jason..." Jane started, her voice unusually quiet.
"Don’t start with your mind gas," Jason cut her off. "I’m not in the mood for your detective act today. Leave."
Jane froze.
He never talked to her like that. Not once.
"...Alright," she said slowly.
She walked out in silence.
Jessy didn’t bother waiting for the elevator—she slamd the button and paced in small circles. Her heels clicked violently against the tile, echoing her fury. Her cheek still burned from the barrage of slaps, and worse, her pride throbbed harder than any bruise.
She’d been slapped before—by rivals, jealous won, even her mother once—but not like this. Not in public. Not by him.
Not by Jason.
"He was supposed to be the weak one," she muttered to herself as the elevator dinged. "He begged for scraps. He cried to our parents. He followed every word Jane and I said like a whipped dog. And now he dares—"
She caught her reflection in the stainless elevator panel. Her hair was frizzed, her makeup smudged, and the rag covering her face had begun to soak through.
Tears welled up, but she forced them down with a growl.
"I swear, Jason... you want to act like a man now? Fine. I’ll show you what happens to n in this world."
She seethed.
"How dare he slap . ."
Her fists clenched around her bag. "I’ll ruin everything that belongs to him. Just you wait, Jason."
Down in the lobby, the staff took one look at Jessy and quickly turned away. No one wanted to get caught in her warpath.
Jane stepped out next, calm on the surface, but internally rattled. Her brother’s defiance unsettled her.
Was he pretending all these years?
No... she would’ve known. She had to have known. Her entire identity was built on understanding others.
There had to be sothing else—so force or pressure that was changing him.
She would find out. Eventually.
Back upstairs, Daisy remained behind in the office.
Jason sat down heavily in his chair, rolling his neck to ease the tension.
Daisy, anwhile, was lost in thought.
He called his... Does that an I belong to him?
Her face flushed.
What if he asked to marry him?
Her heart pounded faster. No, no. Stop it. He’s your boss...
But the thought lingered. It always lingered.
She clasped her hands together to steady herself.
Jason’s hand stung. His palm throbbed from the repeated slaps—not that he regretted it. Still, he flexed his fingers absently, as if trying to shake the ache from his bones.
He didn’t say anything.
Daisy, still standing by the wall, hesitated. Her hand gently lifted from her side, then retreated. She took a step forward, then stopped again.
Finally, she moved. Quiet as a cat, she stepped toward him and reached into the drawer behind the desk. She pulled out a small first-aid kit and popped it open.
Jason raised a brow. "You patching up now?"
She didn’t reply.
She opened a small bottle of ointnt and gently took his hand. He let her.
Her fingers were light, but he noticed how cold they were. Maybe nerves, maybe sothing else. Her touch wasn’t romantic, not really—but there was sothing delicate about it. Careful. Personal.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jason blinked. "Did you just—"
She looked up, surprised at herself, and quickly turned her face away. Her cheeks flushed crimson.
"I an," she muttered, "the hand. You slapped her a lot."
He nodded. "Yeah. It hurts a little."
She gave him a weak smile, then went back to applying the ointnt. Jason watched her closely—not just her hands, but the tension in her shoulders, the conflicted gaze, the slight quiver in her lower lip.
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