Page 77 of K-Pop Double Life

Sang-hoon’s hand found mine between us, hidden from view. Squeezed once. “Of course.”

Three more interviews. Then back to the hotel, where we had barely enough time to change into dress outfits for a dinner with Korean-American community leaders that Starhouse had arranged for networking.

Before we left, I noticed Sang-hoon on his phone again, his fingers rapidly texting. “Is anything wrong?”

He looked up, and a piece of his hair flopped in front of his forehead. “No, your mother wants to make sure you are getting Korean food in New York. I told her about all the meals we’ve had so far.”

I reached over and put the hair back in place. “You are very sweet.”

The dinner was being held at Hyundai’s Genesis House, in an industrial-looking part of Manhattan not far from our hotel, though I couldn’t have told you exactly where. The building itself felt more like a design museum than a restaurant. On the ground floor, sleek cars sat under gallery lighting as if they were sculptures instead of something people actually drove.

Upstairs, everything softened.

Warm wood. Low golden light. Clean lines that reminded me of the modern hanok-inspired spaces Starhouse liked to use for corporate events. Traditional Korean architecture reimagined in glass and luxury finishes. Through the windows, I saw city lights and the dark ribbon of water beyond.

Starhouse had positioned the evening as cultural outreach. Pryzm meeting Korean-American business leaders, media figures, and community organizers. The kind of event where I was expected to be charming, grateful, and photogenic while discussing the global reach of Korean entertainment over exquisitely plated food I barely tasted.

In other words, work.

I smiled through introductions, accepted compliments about our music, answered questions about the tour, and tried not to glance too often toward the perimeter of the room, where Aidan and Liam stood with Jason’s officers.

Sang-hoon was nearby too, though technically he was here as staff, not security. He stayed just far enough away to avoid notice, close enough that I could find him whenever I needed to.

Which, tonight, was more often than I wanted to admit.

I saw him taking pictures of the food, which I knew he would text to my mother. It was so kind of him to think of her, and her worries about me. But that was who he was.

The man across the table from me was a middle-aged banker whose daughter’s dream was becoming a trainee. I tried to gently remind him of the hard work involved when I heard a raised voice near the entrance, the scrape of a chair, and someone saying something sharply in English.

Then a young woman burst into the room.

She was no more than twenty-two. Pretty in an ordinary way, long dark hair, oversized sweater, the kind of person I might have passed on the street without a second glance.

When she saw me, her entire face changed. “Jin-ah!” she shouted. She shoved past one of the event organizers and started toward me.

Aidan moved, but Liam moved faster.

One second she was crossing the carpet between tables, the next Liam had intercepted her, catching her around the waist before she could reach me.

She screamed in Korean, not in fear, but fury. “Don’t touch me! I am his fiancée!”

Guests gasped. Someone dropped a wineglass.

The young woman twisted violently in Liam’s grip, reaching for me. “Joon-hi!” she shouted. “Tell them!”

The use of my real name froze me in place.

“I came all this way for you!”

“Miss, stop resisting,” Liam snapped.

“You have to listen to me!” she cried, struggling harder. “I’m the only one who really loves you! Not them—me!” Her Korean was rougher than the standard Seoul dialect, more like the way Haneul spoke. But you didn’t have to speak Korean at all to tell the kind of thing she was saying.

The room had gone dead silent.

I became abruptly aware of Sang-hoon in front of me, one arm out as though he could physically block her from existence.

“I wrote to you!” she shouted at me. “I sent messages! I know you read them!”