Iseul has no business being invited to the Hwang family’s residence.

Surrounding him are high-profile industry executives and renowned celebrities, making this seem more like a business function rather than a celebration for a child’s first birthday. He’s never met most of the guests here, so he’s certain that he hasn’t done anything to warrant the gazes as he walks past them, as if he wronged them somehow. The attention is validating if he chooses to think of it this way.

Iseul doesn’t answer to the whispers questioning his appearance at the event and his relationship to Kuro. He returns their stares with challenge in his eyes.

Lee Aera and her daughter are nowhere to be found in the throng of guests dressed in silk gowns with plunging necklines and well-tailored suits, resplendent with jeweled embellishments, though he recognizes other members of the family. All of the CEO’s children occupy important positions in the industry, whether it be managing the company and following the footsteps of their father, or promoting as famous actors and idols under their label.

The eldest daughter, actress Hwang Sua, descends the broad staircase like something out of a Korean drama, the trail of her gown whispering over the steps behind her. She looks like a princess in her glittering ensemble, standing several inches higher than the photos he has seen from the runway.

Sua watches him closely with sharp eyes. She asks in a voice commanding of attention, “Where’s Lee Kuro?”

“I wasn’t aware that he’d be here tonight,” Iseul says dryly.

“I don’t like liars,” Sua sneers, looking at Iseul as if he isn't worth her time. At least, she doesn't believe that Kuro is romantically involved with him. Even though she might be thinking that Kuro belongs to her. “I wore this dress for him, so he better be here to see it.”

Iseul keeps his expression placid. When the other guests shower her in praise for her ensemble, he makes his escape. He would rather not interact with the more unpleasant members of the family, though it seems unavoidable tonight. A table stretches across the back of the room, laden with attractive desserts.

If he’s here, he may as well indulge himself.

As a waiter passes by, he snags a flute of champagne and downs it before heading to the table. The wine sits well with his stomach, loosening a tense knot inside him. It’s pleasant. Leo usually keeps him occupied during events since he never takes the initiative to converse with the other guests. Tonight, however, his only company comes in the form of wine and gourmet cakes.

Iseul has the irrepressible urge to occupy himself with anything other than social interaction. He turns his attention to his phone even if there aren’t any sites or apps that he frequents. Checking Instagram again is a mistake, though he has already muted his notifications since this morning.

Awaiting him are hundreds of direct message requests from users he doesn’t follow, hidden behind icons of Kuro’s face—all Lee Kuro fan accounts probably. Ignoring them would be easy enough, but among the icons, a familiar username catches his attention. He narrows his eyes, uncertain if he’s reading the name correctly, but taps on the message.

leekuro

Can we talk?

By the way, this is really me.

Iseul lets out an uneven laugh. Both of them have their fair share of fans impersonating them on social media, but some of these accounts are carefully curated pages with fan-taken photos from Kuro’s performances or reposts of Kuro’s outfits. He loses track of how many times he returns to read Kuro’s message.

He needs another distraction. His throat feels very dry, so he breaks away from his phone screen, waving for a waiter carrying champagne. He reaches for the last flute on the tray, but long fingers sweep it up first. The glass falls into the grasp of a manicured hand, a gold band gleaming on the ring finger. Already, the beginnings of a headache throb at his temple.

Iseul doesn’t need to look up to find the shock of red hair, the face paint on his cheeks, the coquettish curve of his lips. “No plus one?”

He doesn’t respond to the false cheer of Yoon Hanbyul’s voice, choosing to focus on the effervescence of the wine in his hand. He forces himself to swallow through the dryness in his throat. Perhaps Hanbyul will leave if he ignores him.

“I don’t see Lee Kuro anywhere,” Hanbyul continues unfathomable amusement in his tone. He swishes the glass around, wine fizzing around the circumference, before taking a drawn-out sip. The evidence of consumption is a red lipstick stain left on the rim of the glass. As a celebrity makeup artist and the head of a luxury cosmetic company, Hanbyul always wears his creations on his face. “Did you two have a fallout?”

“A fallout couldn’t happen if there was no relationship, to begin with,” Iseul says calmly. “You couldn’t possibly believe in the rumors.”

“There’s no need to keep secrets between us.” Iseul’s skin prickles with awareness beneath the weight of Hanbyul’s gaze, appraising him as if he were a work of art and Hanbyul a collector. Hanbyul’s face seems closer than before. “I’m curious about how you two got together. Everyone is.”

“I don’t have any secrets, but feel free to believe what you want.” There’s no use making an effort to deny everything if his words will fall on deaf ears. Iseul keeps a scowl on his face, though his words remain relatively calm. “I don’t see your husband anywhere.”

“My darling will be late.” Hanbyul’s smile never leaves his face. He was fortunate enough to marry into the famed Song family, known for their monopoly over the media, having a lavish wedding overseas, but Iseul wonders if his in-laws approve of his overtly intimate behavior toward other people. “On the other hand, you look like you wanted company.”

“You’re mistaken.” Iseul turns away without giving time for a response. Hanbyul extends an arm out, blocking him from moving, holding out a business card between two of his fingers. The dangerous thought that he could end someone’s life with the edge of the card flickers through Iseul’s mind.

“You should call me if you reconsider my offer.”

Irrational impulse spikes up Iseul’s spine, the kind that makes him want to pluck the champagne glass out of Hanbyul’s hands and throw it over his face. But he faces forward, staring straight ahead, holding onto the conviction that his expression carries the sentiment that he doesn’t want this conversation to continue.

Thankfully, the waiter returns in time, bringing pause to the conversation that Iseul’s been searching for. He has more than champagne to give when he says, “Madam Lee Aera would like a word with you.”

* * *

Outside on the rooftop terrace, the conversations from the main hall have drifted away, replaced by a song Iseul knows better than anyone else. The song pours from a small speaker, emphasizing the soft, vulnerable emotion in Iseul’s voice, dissolving his verses in the evening wind.

He’s reminded of the power behind Kuro’s music, how the hands behind the manufactured aspects of the industry cannot mold and bend his artistry to their will. He’s reminded of how his own music is nothing like that.

“The infamous Han Iseul,” Lee Aera says. She turns to him with a gentle smile, leaning over the railing. Her dress is simpler than any of the other women he had seen tonight, but she looks like a goddess watching over the city beneath them. “We finally meet.”

“I’ve never heard anyone call me that before,” Iseul says with a polite smile. “Is your daughter here?”

“Baby Sarang is asleep,” Lee Aera answers with a sigh. “We’re not too fond of gatherings like these, but my husband was adamant on throwing an extravagant party. Even though she doesn’t do well with large crowds.”

Iseul rubs a hand against his neck. “I should have brought a gift for her.”

“Sarang has everything she could dream of,” Lee Aera says wryly. “Your presence is more than enough.”

“About that,” Iseul begins to say. “I’m not sure what you’re exactly looking for from me.”

Iseul expects Lee Aera to divulge her expectations and the details of the potential business contract between them and even the personal favors that often come with sponsorship. What he doesn’t expect is for her to blurt out, “Can I take a photo with you?”

“Yes,” Iseul says, surprise evident in his tone. “Yes, of course.”

Lee Aera’s face brightens considerably. “Thank you so much!”

She pulls out her phone and positions it above their heads for the most flattering angle. Iseul’s lips curve upward in response to the embarrassed smile on her face. Her hands are trembling so much that he nearly offers to take the photo for her, but the moment he looks up, the sound of the shutter goes off in succession.

“Oh my goodness,” Lee Aera says breathlessly. “There has to be a good one here. Thank you, Iseul. I never thought the day would come when I would meet you in person, let alone take a picture with you.” Her voice rises to a pitch, making Iseul laugh at her enthusiasm. “I’ve followed you since the beginning, from when you posted your first YouTube video.”