Page 155 of Save Me

I barely notice when Jersey exits the room.

“Dae, we still have a problem,” Taehyun says as soon as the door closes behind her. “The money laundering that my father used to start the business.” His voice is lowered, presumably so Jersey doesn’t overhear.

She doesn’t know the information we’ve found out in recent weeks.

Blackmon held this over my uncle’s head for years. This club—my uncle’s entire business—started using money that Blackmon laundered and earned from illegal means.

“It might not come out, and Blackmon is still missing, but this may still come back to bite us,” Taehyun says, explaining something I’ve already concluded.

“So what?” At this point, I don’t care. The Global Group can drop us if the truth gets exposed. I could lose the club, but none of it would matter because the one thing that matters is gone.

Is it selfish, considering Jersey and Taehyun’s names are also on the line? Yes.

Do I have the energy to care about that right now?

Not even a little bit.

“I have to go,” I tell my cousin before disconnecting the call.

I plant my elbows on my desk and rub at my forehead. Nothing relieves the pounding in my head, though. Or the ache in my chest.

The phone on my desk rings.

“What?” I snap at my assistant.

“There’s someone here to see you. She says it’s urgent,” she quickly answers.

For a split second, hope wells in my chest.

She.

But the hope quickly burns out. I know it’s not Kennedy. Everyone on my staff has standing orders to let her in, no questions asked.

I tell my assistant to send whoever it is away when I hear a voice.

“Tell him it’s about our father, please,” I hear a woman’s voice say.

I pause, knowing that voice.

Our father.

“Send her in.”

A beat later, my door opens, but I don’t rise from my seat. Not only do I not have the energy, but she doesn’t fucking deserve it.

For the first time since that night at the charity ball, I’m face-to-face with MiSoo Kim, my half-sister. The princess of the Kim family.

“What do you want?” I snarl.

She visibly flinches.

She’s dressed in navy blue slacks and a cream silk blouse, her head bowed.

“I-I didn’t come to cause trouble,” she says.

This is the first time she and I have ever exchanged words. She takes a tentative step forward, slowly lifting her head. She looks at me, but her eyes don’t meet mine.

“I never knew about you,” she says, her tone so low, I barely hear it. With a head shake, she goes on, “My father … our father—”

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