ahn hyejin. criminals know her as the daughter of a crimelord centered in south korea. most know her as the girl focused on her studies, who usually kept quiet as the only thing that mattered to her were the books that would get her straight a's. that doesn't mean she was ever innocent, however. no, this good-girl façade was just that: a mask. from a young age, she has witnessed dozens of deaths, all brought on by the mercilessness of her father. a gun to the head; a recurring image that happened at least once a week. consistent indeed, but it never once bothered her. not once did she flinch while witnessing a stranger drop dead a mere second after her father pulls the trigger. not once did she grimace at the sight of a lacerated neck, blood staining a white button-down as they gasp for air.

at first her parents thought it was because she's well-disciplined. because the well-groomed little girl knew how to keep their mouth shut, because she was afraid that daddy and mommy would do the same to her. no, that's far from the truth. young hyejin didn't know why, either. she knew that her dear parents wouldn't do such a thing, because they loved their little girl too much. no, they doted on her just as any parent should. so she didn't understand why she didn't share the same emotions as her peers. she didn't understand why her friends would cry when their relatives died, why people made such a big deal about the passing of their favorite celebrity. Why she didn't shed a tear when her father died from heart attack when she was still a small babe. 

It never fazed her, not once. she didn't know why she was incapable of feeling what everyone else did. regret, remorse,  heartbreak, all of which are unknown to her. love? she only knows it because of her parents, but even she wasn't sure that she adored them as much as they did her. so perhaps its the emotional trauma. perhaps she resents her parents for conditioning her to be so heartless. perhaps it's in her dna. no, it can't be. the memory of her parents generated no displeasure to her.

her first kill was accidental. it was a blur, but she's convinced that it was out of rage. but how could she be angry at a man she didn't love? no, it couldn't have been anger. 

she remembers it clearly—the shared moans that sounded from her bedroom. except, one of them wasn't hers. it was a girl—an ugly, pathetic thing that dared to take things that weren't hers: her bed, her boyfriend. hers. the next few seconds in that period were a blur. the first, she remembered clearly, was seeing the  on his , asking for more, begging for more. riding on top of him as if the room was her kingdom. she remembers smiling in anger, her trademark, scarlet brims curling as her eyes stared daggers upon her back.

the next was the sound of a slap. she had walked over without a second thought, her hand coming in conact with the back of the girl's head. then a thud against the bedside nightstand, followed by another on the floor.

She remembers her own bout of horror, the dread that took over her face. before her lay a girl, unconscious with pools of red surrounding her head. she remembers the man's scream of terror, and how she shut him up. 

she was her first kill; he was her second. 

one accidental; one intentional (with which was was assisted by a pocket knife that was conveniently placed on the same nightstand). both of the same heinous crime. so of course, like any other sane person would have done, she fled.

but it wasn't out of shame for her own wrongdoing. no, it was because she didn't want to get caught. because she knew people would think differently. they would see her as a murderer, and she is. but she would have excused it as a well-deserved death. 

so she fled but soon returned, however with a different face, and a different name. and thus started her business and rise in the empire of criminals, just like daddy taught her—bless him, for he has created a monster.

and this monster is about to make lavande her playground.

beneath a cordial exterior is a confident, charismatic, and efficient woman—traits of a natural born leader. but what sets her apart from being a true leader is her intolerance and impatience; her cold ruthlessness and arrogance placing her in the category of a dictator.

it's no doubt that she's money and power hungry, her only motivation is to rise up an empire of criminals as a feared woman. which makes it so easy (pleasurable, if anything) to kill. if anyone so much as refuses to give her what she wants, she wouldn't hesitate to take a knife to their throat or a gun to their head, so long as it gets her what she needs. 

but she's smart. she wouldn't kill without caution. she knows that more blood on her hands equate to a large chance of getting caught, so if there's a solution without the need of a firearm, she'll take it. 

Otherwise, she's a sweet talker who is an expert at manipulation. the only person to know of the extent of her cold heart is cody fern, her "employer". 

To casia tenants, she's the quiet lady in the leasing office who happens to look like a ...and that's all that really matters, right? 

money, , alcohol, power, stilettos, dogs (especially rottweilers and dobermanns), cody fern. 

people who ask way too many questions, drugs, the tenants of casia, cody fern. 

she doesn't have any. 

is fluent in english, french, and korean,
likes reading books, has a bachelor's degree in business. 

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