Page 10 of K-Pop Double Life

Sang-hoon looked up, and in his eyes I saw gratitude and something else. Trust, maybe. The beginning of it, anyway.

“Thank you, Aidan.”

I let myself out. Liam was in the hallway, leaning against the wall near the elevator.

He showed me his phone. “Police responded. Burner phone, bought yesterday in Nice. Paid cash. They’re pulling CCTV from the shop, but it’s probably a dead end.”

“Professional.”

“Yeah.” He looked toward Jin’s door. “Someone wanted to scare them before trying to kill them. That’s calculated.”

“Or they wanted to see how they’d react. Test the security response.”

“Either way, we’re dealing with someone smart. Someone patient.”

“If we’re going on tour, we’re going to need clothes and electronics and the rest of our gear. Can we leave the team here in charge?”

“I’ll check with Jason.” He pulled out his phone and texted, and a moment later the response came in. “They’ll handle the group, and the police interviews. We need to meet them tomorrow morning at eleven at the airport in Nice.”

As we drove down the Croisette toward Banneret-les-Vaux, the small town where Liam and I owned an old farmhouse, I saw the harbor, the dark water reflecting scattered lights. Somewhere out there, the floating stage sat empty, scorched, silent.

Someone had tried to kill a boy tonight.

And whoever they were, they were still out there, planning their next move.

4

FIVE YEARS

SANG-HOON — CANNES

I couldn’t breathe.

The door clicked shut behind Aidan, and the silence that followed felt like a physical thing pressing against my chest. Jin was still leaning against me, his head on my shoulder, his breathing starting to even out toward sleep.

He heard me.

The thought circled like a vulture. Aidan had just left, and before he’d gone, I’d said it. Out loud. To a stranger who was now our bodyguard.

I’ve spent five years loving him in silence and he would die without ever knowing.

The bathroom door had been open. The suite wasn’t that big. Jin’s English was better than he let most people know.

Oh god. He heard me.

Jin stirred against my shoulder, and I froze. His hand, which had been resting loosely on my knee, tightened slightly. He wasn’t asleep. Had never been asleep.

He sat up slowly, pulling away from me, and I immediately felt the loss of his warmth like a physical ache. When he turned to face me, his eyes were dark and steady and full of something I was afraid to name.

“Sang-hoon-ah.” His voice was soft. Too soft. The kind of soft that came before I’m sorry or I care about you, but or you’re important to me as a friend.

My hands were shaking. I pressed them against my thighs, trying to still them, trying to find words that would take it back or explain it away or turn it into something that wouldn’t ruin everything we’d built. The professional distance. The careful friendship. The thousands of small moments I’d hoarded like a miser, pretending they were enough.

I couldn’t look at him. “You should eat something. Sun-hee-noona is sending food up, and you need to⁠—”

“Sang-hoon.”

He was so close to me I felt his pulse, the way I used to count his heartbeats when I checked him after hard choreography, my fingers at his wrist, pretending I was only doing my job.