The following web novel series is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

THE Runway

Chapter 1: Pulling a Houdini

Although she wasn’t working for the country’s number-one fashion magazine, Jian took pride in her role as a fashion editor at THE Runway, one of Korea’s most prestigious publications. And today, she had finally moved into the apartment of her dreams—X Apartments.

Sure, she had to take out a huge loan to cover the deposit, but it didn’t matter. Today was a milestone, a day she’d never forget.

“Miss, did you just move in?”

Balancing a box as she stepped into the elevator, Jian glanced up to see a warm, friendly-looking woman smiling at her. She recognized her as a resident from the 12th floor.

“Yes, Hello,” Jian replied politely.

“You’re on the tenth floor? Then you must be in 1004?”

The woman peeked at the illuminated floor button, speaking with certainty. Jian simply responded with a smile.

“Oh, 1004! That means you’re right next to the gay couple!”

“A gay couple?”

“Yes. Two young men moved in next door… about a week ago, I think? Well, anyway. They’re both ridiculously handsome and tall—you wouldn’t believe it! But don’t get your hopes up, Miss. They have a child together.”

Jian swallowed the words, "Never even crossed my mind,” and instead gave an awkward smile.

“I heard they adopted, or something like that. Anyway, welcome to the building! Welcome!”

“Thank you. Have a nice day,” Jian replied.

As she stepped off the elevator and headed to her new place, unit 1004, she paused momentarily in front of unit 1003’s tightly shut door.

Making a mental note to greet them soon with housewarming rice cakes, she entered her place.

Little did she know. How could she have predicted the chaos that was about to turn her world upside down?

* * *

The first day in her new apartment had passed.

The place was still a disaster, with boxes everywhere and not a single thing unpacked. Jian was sprawled out in the middle of her chaotic living room, fast asleep, when she groggily opened her eyes.

Blindly fumbling around for her phone, she squinted at the glowing numbers on the screen—then shot upright, her eyes wide in horror.

“Oh, crap!”

She was late. And not just late—late on the first day of her new editor-in-chief’s arrival.

Cursing under her breath, she bolted into the bathroom, her face pale.

And who could blame her? This wasn’t just any new editor-in-chief. He was someone who had come from none other than VOGXE PARIS, where he had served as the fashion director.

What was his name again?

Hyunmin Shin… or did he go by David, too?

“Thank you!”

Jian shouted to the taxi driver as she jumped out and began sprinting toward the building.

THE Runway, where Jian worked, was divided into multiple teams: Fashion, Beauty, Features, and Art.

To break it down, the Fashion News Team handled interviews with fashion experts and covered the latest trends, while the Fashion Styling Team (Jian’s team) produced photo shoots.

The Beauty Team focused on skincare, makeup, and health. The Features Team handled everything else—celebrity interviews, culture, art, sports—you name it.

Lastly, the Art Team packaged all of these elements into stunning layouts.

As a fashion editor in the styling team, Jian always had to stay on top of trends and appearances.

But today? Today, she looked like anything but a fashion editor.

She’d rushed through a shower, barely dried her hair, and slapped on some last-minute makeup that didn’t even cover her bare face properly.

And her clothes?

A wrinkled black T-shirt that wasn’t even remotely weather-appropriate, paired with white denim pants that clearly hadn’t been ironed. Even her shoes—a pair of dirty, worn-out sneakers—looked like they’d seen better days.

It was a disaster, far from the usual way she dressed for work. But it was the best she could manage under the circumstances.

When Jian finally burst into the office, the clock had just struck 11:30.

Now, one of the perks—and downfalls—of working at a magazine like THE Runway was its flexible working hours. There were no strict 9-to-5 schedules.

But even so, being late on the first day of a new editor-in-chief’s arrival was completely unacceptable.

“Jian! Do you even know what time it is?”

At THE Runway, there were no official ranks other than editor-in-chief and deputy editor, so everyone was just on a first-name basis.

“Yura, I’m sorry!”

Jian apologized, practically groveling to her senior editor, Yura Choi, who had been working there two years longer than she had. Yura shot a nervous glance toward the editor-in-chief’s office.

“I heard he used to work for Vogxe. Have you spoken to him yet?” Jian asked, her voice low. Yura just shrugged.

“Speak to him? Please. We haven’t even been introduced.”

Then, with a quick once-over, Yura eyed Jian from head to toe.

“Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you wearing?”

“Oh, uh… I haven’t finished unpacking yet…”

“Unpacking? Did you move or get evicted?”

A few nearby colleagues snickered and teased her.

“Is it that bad?”

Jian mumbled, embarrassed, as she sank into her pink, cutesy-decorated desk. But just as she reached for a pen, “Now that the latecomer has arrived, everyone—meeting room. Now. Enough chit-chat.”

“Oh! Y-yes, sir!”

Jian’s heart sank. The voice belonged to none other than the new editor-in-chief.

But with the tense atmosphere and the office buzzing in a frenzy, she still hadn’t seen his face.

“…!”

As she cautiously tiptoed into the meeting room, her eyes finally fell on the man sitting at the head of the table. She froze in place, unable to move.

The diary and pen in her hands slipped through her fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. Her eyes widened in shock.

Passing by, Yura smirked and muttered, “Crazy handsome, isn’t he?” before taking her seat. But Jian couldn’t move.

Because the man sitting there, the new editor-in-chief, was someone she’d met three months ago in Paris.

Three months ago, the man who had saved her from a pickpocket.

Her mind spun as the memory from three months ago came rushing back.

* * *

In Paris.

“Wow…”

Jian sat aboard a cruise on the Seine River, staring out at the breathtaking night view. It didn’t feel real.

She had never been abroad before, let alone seen something this stunning.

What made her board a flight to France on a whim?

The short version? Her ex-fiancé—whom she had dated for five years and promised to marry—had cheated on her.

Her fiancé’s betrayal struck like a hammer to the skull, not just cracking her world but shattering it entirely.

For an entire week, Jian shut herself off from the world, retreating to her personal hideout.

Of course, for a homebody like her, that “hideout” was just her apartment.

When Jian was stressed or overwhelmed, she had an unhealthy habit of binge eating.

She turned on the TV—not to watch anything, just to have it on in the background—and started stuffing her face with pizza, fried chicken, and black bean noodles until her stomach was uncomfortably full.

Feeling bloated, she popped a digestive pill and, to rinse the dull taste from her mouth, grabbed a tub of ice cream from the freezer, hugging it tightly.

Her blank stare happened to land on the TV screen. A travel show was on. France. The Eiffel Tower, Montmartre Hill, Versailles, Mont-Saint-Michel, the Champs-Élysées.

Spoon in mid-air, Jian froze. Her eyes were glued to the beautiful footage of France, unable to look away, like a magnet was dragging her toward the screen.

Jian was the last person to act on impulse. She thrived on structure, on carefully laid-out plans. Every year, she meticulously filled her planner, and her days were always tightly packed.

But this time, she did something completely out of character. On impulse, she booked a flight to Paris then and there.

After explaining the situation to her boss and using up every last day of her vacation leave, Jian boarded a flight. And now, here she was, sitting on a cruise boat on the Seine River, staring up at the glowing Eiffel Tower with her mouth slightly open.

That was the day she met him.

The man who would later become her editor-in-chief.

Anyone who’s traveled to Europe knows how common pickpocketing is.

But Jian, being a first-timer abroad, didn’t have a clue.

With her backpack casually slung over her shoulders—carrying her passport and wallet, no less—she wandered along the deck, snapping photos of Paris’s breathtaking nightscape, completely unaware of the shadow creeping up behind her.

Pickpockets were experts. Snatching a phone from a pocket was effortless—getting into a loosely worn backpack? Child’s play.

They had incredibly quick hands. In an instant, Jian’s passport and wallet were out of her bag, and the pickpocket was already turning to leave. But just at that instant, a large, firm hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply.

“Agh!” The pickpocket let out a pained groan, his face contorting in discomfort.

The hand belonged to a tall, broad-shouldered man who looked down at the pickpocket with a cold, commanding expression. He gave a slight nod, a clear signal for the pickpocket to drop what he’d stolen.

When the pickpocket hesitated, the man tightened his grip, twisting harder.

The pickpocket yelped—almost a scream—and finally gave up. Jian’s passport and wallet fell to the ground.

Hearing the commotion, Jian spun around, her eyes going wide.

Before she could fully process what had happened, the pickpocket bolted.

The man bent down, picked up her passport and wallet, dusted them off, and handed them back to her.

Then, unexpectedly, he spoke... in Korean.

“I’ve never seen a more careless Korean tourist. Who in their right mind keeps their passport and wallet in a backpack while traveling in Europe? What are you, naïve? Reckless? Completely unprepared? Or all of the above?”

His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Look around and see what other travelers are doing. They keep their bags strapped tightly in front of them. Some even hide cash in their underwear, for crying out loud.”

But despite the harsh tone, Jian couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed because the man was so good-looking. With the Eiffel Tower glowing behind him, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a movie.

Was he an actor? A model?

She couldn’t help but gape at him, too stunned by his looks to say anything.

“Are you going to take this or not?” he asked impatiently, holding out her things.

“What…?”

“Haa, seriously.”

The man let out a small sigh, then took her wrist and kinda shoved her passport and wallet into her hand while she stood there looking a bit out of it.

As the man turned around and started to walk away, Jian called after him, “Wait!”

He paused, spun around a bit, and stuffed his hands in his pockets while he saw her running to catch up with him.

“Are you… Korean?” she asked hesitantly.

“Well, I wouldn’t speak Korean this well if I weren’t,” he replied dryly.

“How did you know I was Korean?”

“Wait, you’re not just naïve, you’re downright clueless.”

The man chuckled at Jian’s innocent question. It was more of a derisive laugh than a friendly one.

“Your passport.”

“Oh...”

She felt like an idiot.

She chuckled nervously with him and gave a big bow.

“Thank you so much for helping me.”

“Be more careful,” he said. “The world isn’t some playground where you can just wander around without a care.”

With that, he turned and walked away, blending seamlessly into the beautiful Parisian night. With the city lights framing his silhouette, he looked like a scene from a watercolor painting.

Jian hugged her passport and wallet tightly to her chest, watching him disappear.

And then, something made her move again. Acting on a whim, she ran after him and grabbed his arm.

The man’s face went from blank to twisted. Turning to Jian, he asked, “What now?”

It was obvious he was annoyed.

Jian bit her lip, trying to find the right words. Then she looked up at him and said, “Let me... buy you a drink.”

“A drink?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding firmly.

“Why?”

“As a thank you.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“No. It’s not like that. I just… I’m really grateful.”

“You’re quite reckless, aren’t you? Offering to buy a drink for someone you don’t even know. What makes you so sure I’m not dangerous?”

“Well,” Jian said, meeting his gaze, “if you were dangerous, you wouldn’t have helped me in the first place. And what’s your name? You can tell me your name now, and we won’t be strangers anymore.”

Oh? His eyebrow lifted, amusement flickering in his eyes. But he freed his arm from her hold and kept a straight face.

“Sorry, but I’m not interested in sharing my name,” he said.

“Fair enough, you don’t have to tell me.”

“You give up pretty easily.”

What’s up with this man? Jian’s brow furrowed instinctively.

“Excuse me, you keep jumping to conclusions about me…”

“Fine.”

“What?”

“You did offer to buy me a drink, didn’t you?” he said, a slight grin finally breaking through his hard exterior.