어느 날 화상입은 여인이 복수를 준비

The scent of burnt flesh and lavender hung heavy in the air, a disconcerting blend that clung to the silk sheets like a shroud. The woman on the bed, her face a mask of white bandages, stirred, the lavender scent making her chest constrict. Her reflection in the polished brass bedside lamp showed an uncanny stillness, her eyes, the only part of her face visible, dark and unreadable behind the gauze.

She was Lee Ji-hye, and the fire that had scarred her life was a year old now. A year since her husband, Kim Jae-hyun, a prominent businessman, had been killed in a “freak” accident, leaving her with nothing but a pile of ashes and a body that felt like a foreign entity.

They called it an accident, a gas leak in the kitchen. But Ji-hye knew better. The fire had been deliberate, orchestrated with a precision that chilled her to the bone. Jae-hyun wasn’t a man who took risks, especially with flammable gas. He had been meticulous, careful, and most importantly, he had been insured. A large insurance payout, enough to make anyone envious.

Ji-hye, a brilliant lawyer, had been consumed by grief, the legal battle for his estate her sole focus. But now, with her wounds healed and her mind clear, she felt a cold, steel resolve. Her husband’s death had not been an accident. It was a calculated act of murder, and she would find the killer.

Her investigation started in the ashes of her former life. She painstakingly combed through the remnants of her home, piecing together the puzzle. Each charred piece of furniture, each melted appliance, whispered a silent story. There was an intricate pattern in the burn marks, a deliberate choreography of flames.

Then came the whispers. Not loud enough to be heard, but felt in the hushed conversations, the stolen glances, the veiled words. People, it seemed, had their suspicions, but no one was brave enough to speak. The whispers spoke of Jae-hyun’s ruthless ambition, his cutthroat business tactics, and the enemies he had made along the way.

Ji-hye began to weave her investigation, each thread leading to a different suspect. There was the young, ambitious associate, who had been denied a promotion, the disgruntled competitor who had lost a lucrative contract, and the silent, watchful figure of Jae-hyun’s estranged brother, who had inherited nothing from the estate.

But Ji-hye felt a gnawing doubt, a sense that something was missing. The whispers, while plentiful, offered no clear direction. The evidence, though suggestive, lacked the concrete proof she needed.

One day, while sifting through Jae-hyun’s papers, she stumbled upon a hidden compartment in his desk. Inside, nestled among contracts and financial statements, was a single photograph – a picture of a woman, her face obscured by shadow. The photo was worn, the edges frayed, and the woman’s eyes, hidden in the darkness, held a chilling familiarity.

Ji-hye stared at the photograph, a cold realization washing over her. The woman’s eyes, despite the darkness, held a fierce intelligence that mirrored her own. It was a familiar fire, the same fire that burned in her own heart, a fire of vengeance.

With a newfound clarity, she knew where to look. Not at the suspects, but at herself, at the reflection in the polished brass lamp. The missing piece, the one she had been blind to, was her own past.

The fire was not a random act. It was a message, a warning. Someone knew her, knew her past, and had orchestrated the fire to send her a message, a message that only she could decode.

Ji-hye’s hands, bandaged and scarred, clenched into fists. The mystery wasn’t about who killed Jae-hyun, but about who knew her, who knew her darkest secrets, and who was willing to go to such lengths to silence her.

The woman in the photograph, with her hidden eyes and a haunting familiarity, was the key. She was the last piece of the puzzle, the missing link between the ashes of her past and the fire that consumed her future.

The mystery had shifted, the focus moving from the perpetrator of a crime to the unraveling of a personal truth, a truth that was buried deep within the fire’s embrace.

Ji-hye, her face still masked by bandages, a cold fire burning in her eyes, began to walk, her footsteps echoing in the silence of her grief, her heart filled with a quiet, burning determination. She was no longer just a victim, but a hunter, and the chase had only just begun.