The first to break the uneasy silence was the tall man seated by the window. He lifted his glass again, though the champagne had barely touched his lips.
"My name is Daniel," he said. "Investment banking."His voice was steady—too steady—like someone who had practiced telling half-truths until they sounded real.
Across the table, the sharp-featured woman let out a soft, amused breath."That sounds appropriately vague."
Daniel smiled politely. "Vague is safe."
She tapped her fingers on the table, the rhythm soft but impatient."I'm Mia," she said. "Freelance photographer. Mostly for fashion houses or magazines."Her eyes flicked around the room as if documenting every angle, every shadow."LA never runs out of something pretty to photograph," she added.
The young girl—barely twenty by the look of her—straightened when the attention fell on her.
"I'm Hana," she said quietly.Her accent carried the softness of Seoul but thinned by years abroad."I'm a student at UCLA. Journalism major."Her hands trembled slightly on her lap, though she tried hard to hide it.
The broad-shouldered man beside her offered a reassuring nod.
"Leo," he said simply. "Private security."A job that explained his calmness. And the way he scanned exits without turning his head.
The next woman—a middle-aged guest with warm eyes but a guarded smile—cleared her throat softly.
"My name is Evelyn. I teach sociology at a community college."Her voice was gentle. But her gaze lingered too long on each person, as if analyzing more than listening.
All eyes shifted to the last guest—a lean man in casual clothes, the only one who hadn't touched the food or drink.He looked irritated to be acknowledged.
"Mark," he said shortly. "Tech contractor."He didn't elaborate.
Daniel leaned back, observing the group."Interesting mix," he said.
"No kidding," Mia murmured.
The First Crack
Hana bit her lip."So… whose apartment is this?"
The question was innocent.The silence that followed was not.
Daniel frowned. "Not mine."Mia shook her head.Leo said simply, "No."Evelyn whispered, "Not me."Mark rolled his eyes. "Obviously not."
Their eyes shifted to the host.
He smiled—too calm, too composed."It doesn't matter who it belongs to," he said."What matters is that you were invited."
A cold draft slipped through the room though the windows were shut.Hana shivered again.It wasn't just the air—It was the instinct that they were not the only ones here.
On the far wall, beneath the chandelier's golden glow, hung a framed photograph.A woman laughing, head tilted back, eyes bright.
Mia noticed it first. She froze."Is that…"She didn't finish.
Because they all recognized her.Not personally—but from the headlines, the rumors, the whispered online threads.
The woman in the frame was Jisoo Han.Missing.Presumed dead.And smiling at them from the wall.