I watch him leave his blond friend and my heart leaps when I realize where he’s heading. His strides are long and determined, his eyes locked on mine.

I swallow, nodding absently to whatever the man in front of me is saying. My mouth is dry, my palms are sweaty, my breath is shallow. Suddenly, someone steps in front of him, blocking my view.

A man stops him on his way toward me, grabbing his arm and introducing him to another man, saying, “Here we have Alexander Mitchell, a distinguished firefighter from the United States. He brings a wealth of experience and courage to our program. Alexander, could you please tell him about your—”

His name echoes in my mind, drowning out everything else as my brain processes it.

Alexander.

It sounds so… right.

Like a missing puzzle piece.

An involuntary smile breaks out on my face, and the man in front of me laughs, thinking I’m amused by whatever joke he thought he said.

But all I can think about is that name.

His name.

Alexander.

There’s a wave of comfort, of peace that comes with knowing his name. It fills me with a warmth, a calming sense of belonging.

Like it’s an answer I never knew I was looking for.

Ji-Hoon comes to drag me away and next thing I know, I’m backstage, getting undressed and changed for our second and last performance of the day.

It’s for a slower number, a ballad from our debut album and we will be dedicating it today to the first responders participating in the program. 

Like Alexander…

A firefighter, the man introduced him as.

He’s a man who saves people from burning buildings. So impressive, but also so different from my own life.

So why is there this sense of recognition between us?

An hour later, I’m still haunted by his image as I sit in the back of the car, tuning out the girls’ animated chatter.

Alexander.

His name echoes in my mind, along with the memory of those green eyes as he headed for me.

He was there, watching me perform our second song, in the audience.

And then he was gone.

Afterwards I scan the room for him, but he’d vanished.

“Eujin-unnie, what about you? What do you think?” Lilly’s voice snaps me back. She thrusts her phone in front of me, displaying the screen. “Minho sent me the list of my approved new looks for the tour, and I really love this one,” she gushes, pointing to a picture of a model with a sleek, dark bob. “Should I go for it?”

I force a smile and nod. “Oh yes, you’d look stunning with that hairstyle. It suits you.”

The girls and I engulfed now in conversation about our different tour looks and which ones we will go with, then the car eventually makes its first stop at my penthouse.

I say goodbye to the girls, promising to see them in a few days for tour prep.

I arrive home, my mind is plagued once again with more thoughts of him as I step through the entrance of my penthouse.

I’m immediately enveloped in my home’s tranquility. The soft hum of ambient lighting illuminates my living space, casting that warm and inviting glow that I love.

I kick off my shoes and savor the satisfying sensation as I stretch my body.

I make my way to the lavish en-suite bathroom, the marble floors cool beneath my feet. The air is scented with hints of soothing lavender from my last bubble bath and I breathe into the relaxing air.

I turn on the taps, and water, perfectly calibrated to my preference, cascades into the tub. Bubbles form, creating a frothy, fragrant haven.

Removing my clothes with a sigh, I sink into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the day’s tensions slowly melt away. The panoramic city view through the bathroom’s windows shows me a mesmerizing backdrop of the city and I enjoy the view as I let myself doze off.

As I succumb to drowsiness, my dreams are painted with a pair of intense green eyes, a sensual jawline, and dark tousled hair.

An hour or so later, I wake up to the sound of my stomach growling.

I finish my bath, feeling the last traces of warmth and bubbles on my skin. I wrap myself in a fluffy robe and slip on a pair of slippers, then head to my open-concept kitchen.

The stainless-steel appliances gleam in the dim light, and the marble countertops are spotless and ready for a quick dinner preparation. Tonight, simplicity is the key, and I opt for a swift yet satisfying meal.

I reach into the refrigerator, pulling out fresh ingredients for a vibrant and crisp salad. The colorful array of vegetables and greens is a feast for my eyes, and I inhale their earthy and tangy aromas.

I chop and I toss, assembling the salad; the rhythmic sounds of the knife and the bowl echoing in the spacious kitchen.

I plate the salad and settle into my cozy dining area.

I’m about to take my first crunchy bite, but the sound of the intercom stops me.

“Yes,” I answer, setting down my fork.

“There’s a woman here to see you, but she’s not on the approved list. Should I let her up?” The doorman announces, sounding apologetic.

I ask for the name and he tells me, I freeze, anger and dread fills me.

I give the doorman permission to let her up, I walk to wait for her by the elevator, my heart pounding in my chest and the feeling of wanting to throw up is imminent.

The door opens and I am staring into the hazel eyes of my older sister. Eyes that I never wanted to see again.

Eyes that hold a lifetime of betrayal and pain.