Page 40 of K-Pop Double Life

I shook my head. “Eun-ji suspecting and Eun-ji knowing are two different things. And if she knows we’re violating the idol-staff agreement she’s in a very bad position with Starhouse.”

He reached for my arm, to pull me over him, but I resisted. I kept thinking about that awful package in his dressing room. “You need to get ready,” I said. “This time you take your own shower.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. But the more we give in to each other, the more dangerous it becomes. Mina showed me a video this morning. Something a fan put together, a collection of clips of you and me together, and speculation about a relationship. We have to try and stay professional, until the end of the tour. We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little while longer.”

I stood up. “I’m going to get my kit. I’ll meet you downstairs for the bus. You have a concert to put on tonight.”

The bus drove us to the arena, where the afternoon disappeared into sound checks, costume changes, and the familiar choreography that happened long before the audience ever filled the arena.

Wan-suk powdered away the shine on Jin’s forehead while I adjusted the hidden microphone cable beneath his jacket.

“Better?” I asked.

He looked in the mirror. “You always ask that.”

“And you always ignore the question.”

His smile appeared in the mirror before he answered. “Perfect.”

Outside, twenty thousand fans were already chanting Pryzm’s name.

Security had changed since Cannes; every backstage credential was scanned twice. Every equipment case had been opened.

Aidan and Liam were rarely in the same place for more than a minute, circling the corridors in opposite directions like predators patrolling their territory. Sun-hee-noona’s headset crackled constantly with updates from venue security.

The concert began as the opening chords of the first song exploded across the arena, the five members of Pryzm danced their way onto the stage. The crowd sang every lyric.

Jin smiled, Woo flirted with the audience, Min-kyu ad-libbed enough French to earn deafening cheers, and Haneul’s solo left half the arena waving illuminated phones.

Even Tae, still favoring his leg slightly, danced well enough that only someone who knew him would notice.

I watched from the wings, exactly where I belonged.

Three costume changes. Seven water bottles. One emergency sewing repair after Woo caught a sleeve on a lift.

Normal, wonderfully normal. By the encore, I almost believed we’d imagined Cannes, and that those threatening text messages were just from fans of other groups happy to see Pryzm fall.

The bus left the Accor Arena just after eleven. Instead of taking the main exit, the lead vehicle turned unexpectedly through a service gate.

Sun-hee-noona looked up from her phone. “Change of route?” she asked Aidan.

“The Paris police suggested it,” he said. “Traffic.”

No one questioned him. Ten minutes later we were crossing the Seine when Liam stood and walked to the rear of the bus. I heard him speak into his phone. “Black scooter. Two riders. Hanging back.”

I twisted in my seat.

A dark scooter slipped between taxis before disappearing behind a bus.

Liam shrugged. “Parisian traffic,” he said, when he saw me watching him.

There was no urgency in his voice, no alarm. Just information.

By the time we reached the hotel, I’d almost forgotten about it. Until I was in the private elevator with Aidan, Jin, and Sun-hee-noona.

“We didn’t change the route because of traffic,” he announced. “Somebody posted our departure plan online about twenty minutes before the show ended.”