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In my past life, Stylist Lee Mi-Ri lived and died for money.
She had maintained good connections in the New York fashion scene, which she leveraged to help her affiliated celebrities break into the American market.
Recognizing her talent, the company had met her salary demands every year. Lee Mi-Ri's fee started at 100 million won the first year and nearly jumped by an extra 100 million won each subsequent year.
Ultimately, Lee Mi-Ri’s salary soared to 700 million won before I died, making her the highest-paid employee in the company aside from Kim Dong-Soo and me.
This caused her to receive criticism from other company employees, being called a ‘money-crazed bitch.’ But the grudge she held about money buried deep in her heart was something I dared not judge.
Her husband, who had boarded a deep-sea fishing boat to earn money for their daughter's overdue hospital bills, went missing in the middle of the Pacific after six months. And with the insurance payment delayed, their daughter died without being able to undergo surgery.
Without knowing such circumstances, Do Ran-Hee kept nagging relentlessly.
"Mr. Jung, a stylist has to go around shops and pick up outfits. Don't you think that would be tough for someone without field experience?"
"Don’t you trust me?"
Do Ran-Hee raised both hands above her head to make a heart shape. "I do trust you. Absolutely loyal."
"If you’re going to...
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