The Jeon estate sprawled across three acres of Gangnam's last untouched hillside, a brutalist fusion of traditional hanok architecture and glass-and-steel modernism that seemed to grow organically from the earth itself, as if the land had birthed it from its own desire to contain something ancient and terrible and beautiful. The property was surrounded by walls twelve feet high, topped with security cameras that blinked like red eyes in the darkness, keeping watch over the last enclave of old money in a city that had otherwise descended into chaos. Beyond those walls, Seoul crumbled—economic collapse, social unrest, the glittering metropolis reduced to survival and desperation. But within, the Jeon family maintained their empire of silk and stone, their dynasty of blood and secrets, their tradition of power that stretched back centuries.