The rain hadn’t stopped for hours, and neither had the ache in my bones. I sat on a park bench clutching a plastic bag—my entire life reduced to two sweaters, a photo album, and a teacup my husband gave me on our wedding day.\n\nThat’s when I heard him. A small voice, trembling beneath the bridge. A boy, no older than six, soaked and shivering, whispering his name into the dark. Something cracked inside me—not pity, but purpose.\n\nI wrapped him in my coat and took him home to my ten-square-meter room. He didn’t speak, just stared with eyes too old for his face. When I turned on the news the next morning, there he was: ‘Missing Heir of Hanjin Group.’\n\nAnd now, a black limousine waits outside my door. A man in a tailored suit steps out—Chairman Han himself. He bows deeply. ‘Thank you for saving my grandson,’ he says. ‘Now let me save you.’\n\nMy phone buzzes. It’s my son. ‘Mom… can we talk?’