Page 29 of K-Pop Double Life

SANG-HOON — PARIS

Aidan rose from his vantage point in the audience and came over to me. “He trusts you.”

“I’ve given him reason to.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” He tilted his head toward the dressing room corridor. “I’m doing a backstage sweep. Want to come? I could use your eye for anything that looks out of place.”

I followed him down the narrow hallway that connected the stage to the dressing rooms. The Accor Arena felt like a machine built for spectacle, with concrete service halls, exposed pipes and cable trays overhead, bright LED lighting, and enough loading docks, freight elevators, and hidden passageways to move an army without the audience ever noticing.

“Each member has their own room?” Aidan asked.

“Jin does. The others usually share—Tae and Woo prefer it, and Haneul and Min-kyu don’t mind. It’s more efficient for the styling team too.”

We stopped at Jin’s door. His name was printed on a card slipped into a brass holder—JIN / PRYZM—in that universal font of temporary occupancy.

Aidan tried the handle. Locked. He pulled out a key card. “Jason gave me access to all the rooms. Hope you don’t mind me checking.”

“I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

The door swung open on a space that was small but private. A counter with a lighted mirror, a clothing rack, a small sofa, and a door to a private bathroom. Jin’s performance outfit hung on the rack, already steamed and prepared. My backup kit sat on the counter next to bottles of water and throat lozenges.

Everything exactly as I’d left it two hours ago.

Except.

On the small table beside the sofa sat a box I didn’t recognize.

White cardboard, maybe thirty centimeters square, tied with silver ribbon. No card visible. No label.

My stomach dropped.

“That wasn’t here before,” I said quietly.

Aidan was already moving, pulling out his phone, photographing the box from multiple angles. “Don’t touch it. When did you last check this room?”

“Right before rehearsal started. Two hours ago. The room was locked.”

“And you’re certain this wasn’t here?”

“Positive.” I would have noticed. I noticed everything when it came to Jin’s spaces.

“Who normally has access to dressing rooms?” Aidan asked.

“Arena staff, our security team, tour management.”

Aidan crouched beside the box without touching it, examining the ribbon, the edges. “Does Jin usually receive gifts in his dressing room?”

“Never. Everything goes through the stage door collection, gets screened, cataloged. Nothing comes directly to the dressing rooms.” My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets. “This shouldn’t be here.”

Aidan was already texting—rapid-fire messages to someone, probably Liam or Jason. His face was carefully neutral, but I’d seen that expression in Cannes. Controlled alarm.

“The ribbon is hand-tied,” he said, still studying the box. “Expensive paper stock. Whoever left this wanted it to look like a high-end gift.”

“What if it’s—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Bomb. Poison. Threat.

“Then we handle it carefully.” Aidan stood, positioning himself between me and the box. “I need you to do something for me. Go back to the stage, find Jin, and keep him there. Don’t mention this. Just keep him occupied until I give you the all-clear.”

“You think it’s dangerous.”