Page 31 of K-Pop Double Life

“He knows something’s wrong.”

“Of course he does. He’s not stupid.” Liam glanced toward the stage where Jin was demonstrating something to Woo, his movements precise even in explanation. “But he trusts you. That’s what matters.”

My phone buzzed. Text from Aidan: Clear. Not a bomb. But you need to see this.

I looked at Liam. He’d gotten the same message.

“Stay with the group,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”

“No.” The word came out harder than I intended. “If it’s about Jin, I need to see it. If I can’t tell him everything, he’ll fight against your security.”

Liam studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Come on.”

Jin’s dressing room looked the same as before. Small, temporarily his, smelling of fabric steamer and the lavender room spray I always brought to make unfamiliar spaces feel more like home.

The white box sat on the table, ribbon untied, lid removed.

Aidan stood beside it, his face composed, his jaw set. Jason wore a pair of bright blue rubber gloves and was photographing the contents with a professional camera, his jaw tight.

“What is it?” I asked.

Aidan stepped aside so I could see.

Inside the box, nestled in white tissue paper, was a silver picture frame. The kind you’d give as a romantic gift, ornate and expensive.

The photograph inside showed Jin on stage. It wasn’t a professional photo, but a candid shot taken from close range. Very close range. Backstage close.

He was mid-costume change, shirt off, caught in that vulnerable moment between performances when the armor came down.

Someone had drawn on the photograph. Red marker, careful lines.

A heart around Jin’s face.

Across the bottom, someone had written in Korean, each character formed with meticulous care: You wanted our devotion. Now you’ll learn what it costs.

My hands went cold.

“When was this taken?” I asked, though I already knew. It had to have been the Cannes show, because we’d debuted new costumes for that performance. The lighting and the background all screamed backstage at the concert venue.

“Two days ago,” Jason said. “During the performance in Cannes.”

“So someone was backstage there.” Liam’s voice was flat. “Close enough to photograph him during a costume change.”

“And now they’ve managed to get into his locked dressing room in Paris.” Jason pulled out an evidence bag and began carefully lifting the frame. “That’s not fan devotion. That’s access.”

I stared at the photograph, at Jin’s face circled in red, at the possessive words, at the violation of privacy packaged like a love letter.

“We need to tell him,” I said.

“Not yet.” Jason sealed the evidence bag. “First we need to figure out who had access to both venues. That’s a very short list.”

“We’ve already vetted your touring staff,” Aidan said.

“It could be someone who’s traveling parallel to us.” Liam was already pulling up something on his tablet. “Following the tour schedule, buying access from local crews.”

“Or someone Starhouse hired locally,” I said, the words bitter in my mouth. “Someone who seemed legitimate but isn’t.”

Aidan looked at me. “You work with the styling team. Anyone new? Anyone behaving oddly?”