The sky above Dubai was a muted gray, heavy with the promise of rain, as Kim Soyeon knelt before her father's marble gravestone. The cemetery, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, felt worlds apart from the glittering skyscrapers that defined her life. Her fingers traced the engraved Hangul characters of her father's name, Kim Daehyun, the weight of his absence pressing against her chest. Tears streamed down her cheeks, smudging the subtle mascara she'd applied that morning, but she didn't care. Here, in this moment, she wasn't the glamorous heiress of a real estate empire. She was just a daughter, grieving.
"Daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why did you have to leave me so soon?"
Memories flooded her mind, vivid and warm, like snapshots from a life that felt impossibly distant. She saw herself at five, perched on her father's shoulders as he strolled through their sprawling villa in Seoul, pointing out the stars through the glass ceiling. "You're my little princess, Soyeon," he'd say, his deep laugh echoing. She'd been his shadow, trailing him to his Dubai offices at ten, twirling in her frilly dresses while he signed contracts worth millions. He'd spoiled her rotten—designer dolls, private tutors, vacations to Paris—but it was his time she'd craved most. Those late-night ice cream runs, just the two of them, giggling over shared secrets.
"I was such a brat," Soyeon murmured, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "You gave me everything, and I just… took it." She remembered throwing tantrums when he worked late, pouting when he couldn't attend her school plays. Yet he'd always made it up to her, with a new charm bracelet or a handwritten note slipped under her door. Now, at twenty, she'd give anything for one more of those notes.
Her father's death five years ago had shattered her world. A heart attack, sudden and merciless, had stolen him away. His will, revealed in the cold boardroom of their Palm Jumeirah mansion, had been even crueler: Soyeon, his only child, would inherit his vast fortune—properties across Dubai, Seoul, and London—but only after she married. Until then, everything belonged to her mother, Kim Yoonmi. Soyeon had laughed when she first heard it, thinking it a joke. Marriage? She was barely fifteen then, more interested in K-pop idols than vows. Now, at twenty, the clause loomed like a cage, her mother's constant matchmaking a reminder of her lack of control.
Soyeon wiped her tears, her manicured nails catching the faint sunlight. "I miss you, Daddy," she said, standing. "I'll make you proud… somehow." She adjusted her oversized sunglasses, hiding her red-rimmed eyes, and walked toward the cemetery's exit. Parked just beyond the gates was her pride and joy: a sleek, custom Bugatti Chiron, its midnight blue paint gleaming like liquid sapphire. The car, a gift from her mother for her eighteenth birthday, was less a vehicle and more a statement. It screamed wealth, power, and freedom—the kind Soyeon chased every day.
Sliding into the driver's seat, she inhaled the scent of leather and revved the engine, the roar drowning out her lingering sorrow. Kim Soyeon wasn't just any rich girl. She was the Kim Soyeon, Dubai's golden heiress, a fixture in the city's elite circles. Her Instagram boasted half a million followers, her wardrobe overflowed with Chanel and Dior, and her nights were spent in the VIP sections of the city's hottest clubs. Life was a game, and she played it flawlessly, surrounded by friends who adored her charm and boys who fell at her feet. Responsibility? That was her mother's domain. Soyeon's job was to shine.
As she sped toward Downtown Dubai, weaving through traffic with reckless confidence, her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. She glanced at the screen: Jisu calling. A grin spread across her face. Lee Jisu, her best friend since their high school days at Dubai's top international school, was her partner in crime. With her platinum hair and bold fashion, Jisu was the only one who could keep up with Soyeon's chaos.
Soyeon tapped her earpiece. "Hey, Jisu, what's up?"
"Soyeon, you have to come out tonight!" Jisu's voice was electric, barely containing her excitement. "There's this new club opening at Dubai Marina—Eclipse. It's insane, like, velvet ropes, celebrity DJs, the works. We're getting bottle service, and I'm not taking no for an answer."
Soyeon laughed, her earlier tears forgotten. "Eclipse, huh? Sounds like my kind of trouble. Who's coming?"
"The usual crew—Hana, Minji, and maybe that cute guy from the yacht party last week. Oh, and I heard Kang Taehyun might show up." Jisu's tone turned teasing. "You know he's been texting me about you."
"Taehyun?" Soyeon rolled her eyes, though her lips curved into a sly smile. Kang Taehyun, the charming heir to a hotel empire, was Dubai's resident heartthrob. She'd flirted with him at a few parties, enjoying the way he chased her, but her heart stayed firmly unclaimed. "He's fun, but I'm not looking for a boyfriend, Jisu. I'm just here for the vibes."
"That's my girl," Jisu cheered. "Meet us at Eclipse at ten. Wear something hot—let's make jaws drop."
"Always do," Soyeon quipped, ending the call. She cranked up the music, a pulsing K-pop track, and let the beat carry her thoughts away. A night at Eclipse was exactly what she needed—neon lights, champagne, and the thrill of being untouchable. Who cared about her mother's marriage schemes or the weight of her father's legacy? Tonight, she'd be free.
---
Across the city, in a glass-walled boardroom atop a sleek skyscraper in Sheikh Zayed Road, Park Jungwoo sat at the head of a polished mahogany table. His sharp features were set in a mask of cool authority, his dark eyes scanning the executives before him. At thirty-two, Jungwoo was a legend in Dubai's tech scene, the founder of NexGen Solutions, a company revolutionizing AI-driven urban planning. His tailored charcoal suit and minimalist watch screamed success, but it was his presence—quiet, commanding—that silenced the room.
"Gentlemen," he began, his voice low and precise, "our projections for Q3 are unacceptable. If we don't secure the government contract for the smart city project, our competitors will. I expect revised proposals by tomorrow morning. No excuses."
The executives nodded, some scribbling notes, others avoiding his gaze. Jungwoo's reputation preceded him: brilliant, relentless, and unforgiving in business. He'd clawed his way from poverty in Seoul, adopted by a struggling Korean couple who'd given him love but little else. Every deal, every late night, had been for them—to lift his family out of the shadows of hardship. Now, with NexGen valued at billions, he was untouchable, a name whispered in boardrooms and gala halls. Yet few knew the man behind the myth. Jungwoo rarely smiled, spoke only when necessary, and shunned the spotlight.
As the meeting adjourned, Jungwoo stood, buttoning his jacket. "Dismissed," he said, his tone final. The executives filed out, leaving him alone with the city's skyline stretching beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Dubai's lights glittered like a promise kept, a far cry from the cramped Seoul apartment of his childhood. He allowed himself a moment of stillness, then headed to his corner office, where a surprise awaited.
"Hyung!" Park Minho, Jungwoo's younger brother, lounged in Jungwoo's leather chair, spinning lazily. At twenty-two, Minho was Jungwoo's opposite—bright, carefree, with messy brown hair and a grin that disarmed everyone. A graphic design student at a Dubai university, Minho was the family's light, and Jungwoo's soft spot.
"Minho," Jungwoo said, raising an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Skipped it," Minho replied, unabashed. "Figured I'd visit my favorite CEO instead. You look stressed, hyung. When's the last time you had fun?"
Jungwoo ignored the jab, settling at his desk. "Fun doesn't pay the bills. How's school?"
"Boring," Minho said, leaning forward. "But listen, I called Mom and Dad yesterday. They're doing great back in Seoul. Mom's obsessed with her new garden, and Dad's still bragging about you to everyone in the neighborhood. They miss you, though. You should visit soon."
Jungwoo's expression softened, a rare crack in his armor. His adoptive parents, now in their sixties, were his anchor. He sent them money monthly, enough to live comfortably, but guilt gnawed at him for staying away so long. "I'll go when things settle down," he said quietly. "How's their health?"
"Solid," Minho assured. "But enough about them. Let's talk about me." He grinned, hopping onto the desk. "My birthday's this weekend, and I want to celebrate big. There's this new club, Eclipse, at Dubai Marina. It's supposed to be epic. You're coming tonight, right?"
Jungwoo frowned. "A club? Minho, you know I don't do that scene."
"Come on, hyung!" Minho pleaded, clasping his hands dramatically. "It's my twenty-third birthday! You can't make me party without my big brother. One night won't kill you. Please?"
Jungwoo pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting his weakness for Minho's puppy-dog eyes. Clubs were his nightmare—loud, chaotic, filled with people like the spoiled elites he avoided. But Minho's joy was worth the discomfort. "Fine," he relented. "One night. But don't expect me to dance."
"Yes!" Minho pumped his fist, leaping off the desk. "You're the best, hyung. Eclipse, tonight, ten p.m. Don't flake!"
Jungwoo shook his head as Minho bounded out, his energy lingering like a spark. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Eclipse. The name sounded like trouble, a world he'd spent years avoiding. Will this night pass without incident?
To be continued…