Instinct or Love?
"Talent…?"
Sophie's mother's eyes went round. Confusion flooded her face; she clearly had no idea what he meant.
"With features like yours, there's no way you don't know," Donovan said, studying her face without blinking. "You've had a dream, haven't you?"
Her eyebrows swept up in elegant arcs that soared clean past the outer corners of her eyes, and her irises were deep, the black and white of them starkly defined. In the classic physiognomy text Ma Yi Xiang Shu, features like these were called sumi — the mark of the Wenqu star, the celestial body that governed scholarship and the arts. In Joseon times, when a single brushstroke could make or break a man's career, a face like hers would have belonged to a literary giant. It was the face of someone born with the gift to seize a reader's heart and shake it with nothing but words.
At Donovan's words, her shoulders went visibly rigid. Her gaze went blank, as if she'd been struck, then drifted down to her own rough, work-hardened hands.
Callused hands, beaten down by poverty — hands that had shuffled between restaurant kitchens and dingy motel cleaning. When was the last time those hands had held a pen?
A bitter smile touched her lips.
"…It was a very long time ago. There was a time when I wanted to write, too."
A faded dream of a literary girl, buried deep in her chest, never spoken to a soul.
"Ernest Hemingway said it, didn't he? The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places."
Her voice flowed out calm and measured — so composed, so deep, it was hard to believe this was the same woman who had been pouring out tears only moments before.
"But crushing poverty doesn't make a person stronger. It just grinds them to dust. So I gave up. The world I was allowed wasn't one of words. It was a life of scrambling for tomorrow's bread."
A short confession. And yet the choice of words, the cadence of the sentences, the strange magnetic pull that seized the room in an instant — Donovan leaned back against his chair and let the corner of his mouth curl up.
Yeah. With a face like that, there's no way she doesn't know her own talent.
Real talent — the kind that, no matter how long it had been crushed, never died. It had simply been holding its breath.
"Well, you're not wrong. Poverty isn't romantic."
Donovan propped his chin on his hand and went on, offhand.
"But isn't this the perfect chance to finally chase that dream?"
No husband. The money he earned still landing in her account, steady as clockwork. And after the shock of the kidnapping, she needed rest either way.
But just because opportunity had arrived didn't mean someone who had set their dream down years ago could simply nod along.
"…That's—"
"Don't overthink it. Try it once. If it doesn't work, walk away. How about a job as an assistant speechwriter for the mayor? Want to give it a shot?"
Her eyes went wide.
"Th-the mayor's speeches? A position like that would have elite graduates from top universities lined up around the block… I dropped out of college. I don't have a real résumé. How could someone like me possibly do something that important—"
"Hold on."
Donovan pulled out his phone and dialed without hesitation.
Rrring— Click.
The line connected, and a hearty, easygoing voice spilled through the receiver.
"Well, well. My miracle of a friend. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You busy?"
"For your call, I'd pick up in the middle of a meeting. Need a favor?"
"Can you open up an assistant speechwriter spot in the mayor's office? I've got someone I want to recommend."
"An assistant speechwriter? For my speeches?"
"Yeah. College dropout, no real experience — but she's got talent. Shocking talent."
Sterling's delighted laugh burst through the line.
"If you say she's that good, it won't be long before my speeches have half of New York crying their eyes out. Tell her to report to City Hall's public affairs office first thing tomorrow. I'll have the position ready."
"Great. Thanks."
Click.
Donovan hung up and grinned at Sophie's mother, who was sitting there completely stunned.
"You heard him. He wants you at City Hall first thing tomorrow."
"C-City Hall?! The person you just called — was that actually… the real Mayor of New York…?!"
Her jaw hung open as if it might fall off. Donovan leaned back against his chair, languid, and added,
"From here on out, it's on you. Go show them what you can do. Make it so no one has a choice but to acknowledge you."
"Yes — yes! I'll work as hard as I can. Thank you… truly! I will never forget this kindness as long as I live!"
At Donovan's firm assurance, tears welled in Sophie's mother's eyes again. But this time they weren't the tears of a woman driven to the edge of a cliff. Solid hope had taken root there.
She kept thanking him over and over as she squeezed Sophie's small hand tight.
Jingle—
As the mother and daughter stepped out through the shop door, the wretchedness that had clung to them on the way in was gone without a trace. Their backs, receding into the street, carried a new spark of life.
Once the mother and daughter were gone, a peaceful quiet settled over the fortune-telling shop.
Donovan pulled an old flip phone from the inner pocket of his suit. He punched in a speed-dial number with practiced ease, and before the second ring finished, a heavy voice came through.
"What is it?"
"Hey, Boss. It's me."
Until now, he'd been the one receiving thanks. This time, it was Donovan's turn to give them.
"I put you through a lot yesterday and today, huh? Thanks to you, everything wrapped up clean. The intel was solid. Appreciate it."
At his casual greeting, a low, dry chuckle drifted through the receiver.
"Compared to the board you set up, all I did was put a spoon on the table. Never figured a one-man fortune shop could work an entire NYPD precinct in the middle of New York like a set of limbs."
"Come on, the cops were just doing their jobs. Anyway — I owe you this time, so next time, I'll be the one helping."
Give and take. To a thoroughly calculating back-alley information broker, no repayment could be more certain — or sweeter — than a promise from the man who worked miracles.
A brief silence stretched over the line, the kind that hummed with furious calculation. Then the Boss's voice returned, calm, with a quiet undercurrent of interest.
"I didn't pass the intel expecting a return… but if you're offering first, I've got no reason to turn it down."
He swallowed dryly and went on.
"As it happens, a rather interesting — and rather headache-inducing — request just came in. I've been holding it. Something I think you'd find very much to your taste."
"Oh? Perfect timing. Who is it?"
"The Chairman of Aero Dynamics."
"Aero Dynamics?"
Donovan tilted his head. The name rang a faint bell, but he couldn't pin down exactly what it was.
"You might not know it. They supply military aircraft to the Pentagon, and they all but monopolize the production of ultra-luxury private jets for the world's top 0.1% VVIPs."
An unprecedented weight settled into the Boss's voice through the line.
"There's a rumor even the White House watches that group's face. America's largest aviation and transport conglomerate."
"Whoa… That's a hell of a scale. But someone like that has a headache? With that kind of money, what couldn't they solve?"
"It's not a company matter or a political problem. She wants a background investigation on her husband."
"A background check? What, is he cheating?"
"No. She says he's being too good to her."
"…What? She wants him investigated for being too good?"
Donovan's sheer disbelief made the Boss continue, unhurried.
"That's right. They're known even among New York high society as a devoted couple — but lately, the husband has become devoted to the point of self-sacrifice."
"And that's supposed to be suspicious?"
"This isn't some ordinary woman's gut feeling. This is the woman who took a company from second place in the industry and dragged it to first."
"So not your average instinct, you're saying."
The intuition of a titan who had weathered every storm to build a vast empire was nothing to dismiss lightly.
"The problem is, nothing turns up. Not a scrap. Enough to make you think she's just imagining it."
"They must've run their own checks already. Accounting ledgers, that kind of thing."
"Of course. From the internal audit team to accounting — double, triple layers of quiet sweeps. Not a single dollar of suspicious fund flow. No mistress. No hidden slush fund. Nothing."
"They didn't put a tail on him? A long enough trail always gets stepped on."
At Donovan's question, the Boss clicked his tongue softly.
"The chief secretary at the Vice Chairman's side is the Chairman's own person to begin with. She hauled that secretary in and wrung him dry — and even then, no unusual behavior."
"Really nothing?"
"I looked into it myself. Truly nothing. Not a speck of dust. The Vice Chairman is always accompanied by that secretary she assigned, and the moment work ends, he returns home like clockwork."
"Literally nothing? What is he, a workaholic?"
"His only hobby is driving. On the way home he takes a slightly longer route. That's the whole of it. And even then, the secretary rides along."
"Ah. So that's why you called it a headache of a request."
Donovan let out a hollow laugh and nodded.
If they'd dug this deep and still found nothing, it meant conventional methods would never catch a tail.
Still — one thing needed settling first.
"But flip it around. Maybe there really is nothing."
"Nothing at all?"
"Yeah. If you've shaken a man down this thoroughly and not a single speck of dust falls out, maybe the husband really is just being genuinely good to her."
"…Pathological jealousy, then?"
"It's not impossible. After surviving every kind of hell and learning not to trust people, she might be suspicious of even genuine kindness."
A short silence filled the line.
"I can't say the possibility is zero."
"So I think I need to see them myself. Both the Chairman and the Vice Chairman. But before that, there's one thing I want confirmed."
"Come to think of it, I still haven't mentioned the most important part. If you completely resolve the source of that unease — and bring back airtight, irrefutable proof — she said she'd hand over a top-of-the-line private jet."
"…What? A private jet?"
Now that was tempting.
"I'm in. Absolutely."
"Understood. I'll arrange a setting where you can see the couple together naturally. We'll lock down a schedule on this end and contact you."
"Yeah. Call me."
Click.
Donovan set the old flip phone on the desk and thought.
Was it the pathological jealousy of an empress who had built America's greatest aviation empire — or a husband's perfect con, tail hidden so cleanly he was fooling his wife's eyes?
Either way, the ending wouldn't be ordinary.
This is going to be fun.
The corner of Donovan's mouth curled up with interest.
A few days later.
The ballroom of Manhattan's finest hotel.
Donovan had arrived early for the charity gala hosted by Aero Dynamics.
From the second-floor balcony, he looked down over the first-floor hall.
Beneath the glittering chandeliers, one couple stood out above all the rest.
Victoria, Chairman of Aero Dynamics, and her husband David, the Vice Chairman.
All right. Let's take a look.
Donovan set down his champagne glass and began with his client — Chairman Victoria's face.
…This isn't simple jealousy.
From the cheekbones that gripped and commanded power, down through the bone structure to the tip of the chin, the force of her skeleton was as fierce as a predator's. The face of a ruler who had seized a second-place company and hauled it to the top of the industry in a single stroke.
What truly caught Donovan's eye, though, were her eyes.
A piercing gaze that cut straight through to the essence of things. Jet-black eyes of crystalline distinction — the black and white of them absolute, gleaming like polished onyx.
The instincts of a person with eyes like that almost never missed.
Which means the suspicion is real…
If the wife's extraordinary intuition wasn't pathological delusion, then the husband had to be running an enormous con right under her nose.
So what about the husband?
Donovan's gaze shifted to David.
The smile he wore as he escorted his wife was tender.
Donovan checked the Palace of Romance — the facial region that governed romantic attachment and affection — and his brow instantly furrowed hard.
…Huh?
Not a shred of the black aura of infidelity. Not a wisp of the greedy energy of someone siphoning money. Nothing.
Instead, the Vice Chairman's Palace of Romance was boiling with a thick, deep red of genuine affection.
It wasn't an act.
This was the face of a man who truly, blindly, passionately loved someone.
Wait. The husband loves her too?
None of it added up.
A woman with extraordinary instincts.
A man still full of love.
One of them is lying.
Or there was a blind spot no one had even imagined — something documents and surveillance could never catch.
The corner of Donovan's mouth curled up with interest.
Must be the private jet on the line. This one's not going to be easy.