Twisted Madness (1)
The Signiel Hotel on the 101st floor of the World Tower. Every car the valets pulled away for parking screamed tens of millions of won. All the attendees had dolled themselves up in flashy dresses and tuxedos. A string quartet performed on the podium to one side, while the chandelier lights mounted high on the walls dazzled the eyes. I had no idea what those cars cost, but even if you pooled every penny of a detective's salary, you couldn't touch one.
Something about the alien atmosphere left a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Welcome. Do you have an invitation, sir?"
The desk attendant hesitated as she eyed my outfit before speaking up.
No wonder. Everyone else was decked out to the nines, while I was in a dusty leather jacket and worn-out jeans. I'd considered wearing a suit, but even my best threads would look like street-market trash to these people. Might as well make a statement and stick to what was comfortable. I had no intention of dancing to their tune.
It grated on me—the idea of mingling with these green rich kids who'd never known hardship, strutting around convinced their few words steered the fate of Korea. But Taehwa was essential to my plans going forward. I bit my lip hard and handed over the invitation.
"Oh! My apologies. Allow me to escort you. This way, please."
The attendant's back bent at a perfect ninety degrees at the sight of the gold-embossed Taehwa Group invitation.
There were about seventy guests filling the vast hall. People of all ages chatted against a backdrop of classical music—from the heirs of Korea's top thirty conglomerates to political and business heavyweights, even generals with stars on their shoulders. Probably angling for a National Assembly nomination post-discharge.
A few straight shots of cognac helped me adjust and loosen up. As I scanned the room, wondering what these chaebol parties were like, whispers rippled from all directions.
"Who's that guy? What a disgrace to such a refined event..."
"He’s got a handsome face and a fine build, though. Which family’s son is he?"
I had zero interest in being their entertainment. After exchanging brief pleasantries with Hong Gye-young, I turned to leave—only for a shadow to block my path.
"Oh, it is you, right? Inspector Kang Cheol-gu!"
A black silk dress with a plunging neckline caught my eye. Her voice dripped with sultry allure—not forced, but innate, like she exuded it with every breath.
Jang Yun-seong. The third-generation heir of Hyojung Group, running its affiliate Hyojung Life in her late twenties.
I might not know much about chaebol dynamics, but even I knew her. She was infamous.
A Columbia University graduate—an Ivy League prodigy. She'd rocketed Hyojung Life to industry number one with her business acumen matching her stunning looks.
But she was even more notorious for her string of male conquests. Over ten chaebol heirs had confessed and been shot down. Rumor had it one even attempted suicide. She sparked scandals with men from all walks—professors, actors, artists, athletes—collecting them like trophies in her personal gallery.
Even after marriage, the affairs kept coming, but she buried them under her achievements. It all unraveled with a host bar hustler, leading to divorce and disownment by her family...
But that was later. Why was she acting chummy with me?
"You know me, Ms. Jang Yun-seong?"
"Know you? Of course! You're the one who caught serial killer Yoo Hyeong-cheol. I saw you on TV."
Her lips were an unnaturally vivid red. The way her tongue moistened them felt serpentine. A stranger might fall for her beauty, but knowing what she was, her approach repulsed me.
* * *
The wine in Hong Gye-young's slender fingers swayed gently. She smiled through the flood of congratulations, but her eyes kept flicking to the entrance.
When's that man arriving?
The moment he appeared, a radiant smile bloomed on her face. Faded jeans and a leather jacket. He looked ready to punch someone, lips pursed defiantly.
That man never disappointed. She chuckled softly and stepped forward—then her delicate brows furrowed.
Jang Yun-seong of Hyojung Life. Why was that vixen cozying up to Detective Kang Cheol-gu? How did they know each other?
The smile on her lips turned icy. She whirled toward them, the hem of her white dress sweeping urgently across the marble floor.
* * *
"Oh my! I had no idea you two knew each other."
A familiar voice slipped between me and Jang Yun-seong. Hong Gye-young, the CEO herself.
"Ah! CEO, it's been too long. How have you—"
"I asked if you two know each other."
Was it my imagination, or did her voice sharpen like a blade?
"No one starts out knowing everyone, right? We can build a friendship from here."
Jang Yun-seong leaned toward me, eyes fixed on Hong Gye-young.
"Don't you think so, unnie?"
Hong Gye-young's lashes trembled neatly. Just a one-year age gap, yet dropping "unnie" in a formal setting like this?
I couldn't help a smirk. Beneath the glittering chandelier, the two beauties locked eyes. White and black dress hems fluttered in the breeze. The party's chatter died down, all eyes turning their way.
Proud ice versus smoldering flame, clashing in a test of wills. Kim Gwang-il, the wuxia fanatic, would spit while calling it the "Clash of the Martial World's Twin Flowers."
But speaking of, shouldn't that guy be here by now? Jang Yun-seong wouldn't skip an invite like this.
"There you are. With you two together, the room lights right up."
A deep baritone cut in. He'd come, as expected. No way he'd miss this.
About 180 cm, like me, but he looked at least 10 kg heavier. Solidly muscled, like his whole body was wrapped in it. Less chaebol heir, more elite athlete.
No surprise there. Park Hyeok-cheol. Third-gen of Geonwoo Group, Ivy League golden boy.
Unlike typical heirs who dodged service with excuses, he'd volunteered for special forces. Post-discharge, he even fought amateur MMA—a true scholar-warrior.
His unique resume made him the crown prince of high society, always at the center of scandals.
Even I, who ignored chaebol news, knew his name and creds.
He'd first set his sights on Hong Gye-young, but she kept him at arm's length. Enter Jang Yun-seong, offering a warm welcome to the rejected suitor—like a child reclaiming a toy.
That's when Park Hyeok-cheol's obsession ignited. Ironically, the more fixated he grew, the colder she became.
"Looks like our Jang Yun-seong has taken a real shine to the inspector here."
A subtle fury glinted in his eyes as he stared at me. He emphasized "our."
"Oh, come on—who wouldn't be interested in Inspector Kang? Handsome, capable..."
Her gaze swept Park Hyeok-cheol and the crowd lightly.
"And unlike these days' pampered chaebol heirs, he's forging his own rough path. Not some sheltered greenhouse life under the family umbrella. How charismatic is that?"
She stepped closer. A low sigh escaped Hong Gye-young's lips. Her arms crossed tightly, eyes narrowing sharply.
"Haha. I pride myself on carving my own rough path too...!"
Jang Yun-seong cut him off, raising her champagne for a toast with me. Her long, pale fingers gripped the glass, a red ruby ring amplifying her glamour. Park Hyeok-cheol's thick brows twitched beside her.
This is getting interesting...
Jang Yun-seong rubbed me the wrong way, but Park Hyeok-cheol was worse. The media hyped his "model soldier" story, and the public ate it up—heralding him as proof chaebol heirs could change.
But we cops on the beat knew the truth. "Narcissistic personality disorder." Our diagnosis for his pathology. A spotlight-hungry, ego-swollen psycho.
He joined spec ops to prove he was "different"—a pathetic superiority complex, his original sin of a messiah complex.
Victims piled up, but the media's hero image held. They were smeared as hyenas after chaebol blood money. He'd bury anyone who displeased him, yet always stayed the center of buzz.
Now, watching his crush flirt with another man? He'd lose it.
"Too bad..."
I gently pushed her glass away.
"I'm a soju guy. Champagne's not my thing."
Jang Yun-seong and Park Hyeok-cheol both froze. Hong Gye-young's crossed arms relaxed with a quiet breath of relief. Jang's pupils dilated in disbelief before she regained her composure.
"Oh, my apologies. I didn't know your taste, Inspector. Next time, somewhere private—not official. Here's my card."
She handed me her crisp business card. As she turned, her dress flared like a peacock's tail. Only a faint perfume lingered.
"Inspector Kang Cheol-gu. You're quite the heartthrob, aren't you?"
Hong Gye-young's gaze was chilling. An inexplicable chill washed over me.
"Ah! CEO, you're here. Chairman YK Oh wants to see you. Says you should pay respects."
Yang Jin-ho, her secretary, approached just as she opened her mouth. She shook her head with a sigh and left. Now it was just me and Park Hyeok-cheol.
"Kang Cheol-gu, was it? Fate's brought us together—care for a drink?"
His words hit like hammer blows, heavy and deliberate. He filled a glass to the brim with whiskey. The oak scent of fine liquor stung my nose. It overflowed, staining the red tablecloth.
"I'm curious. Will you dodge this one too? This isn't just my toast—it's a message from Geonwoo Group."