The Morning Briefing
The pounding on my dorm door was so aggressive I thought campus security was raiding me for contraband instant noodles. I yanked it open to find Yoon Haewon looking like vengeance personified in a sleek black pantsuit, her designer sunglasses perched atop her head like a crown.
"You're late," she announced, shoving a garment bag into my chest with enough force to make me stumble back.
I squinted at my phone. "It's 7 AM. On a Saturday."
"And the gala starts at 6 PM sharp." She pushed past me into my disaster zone of a dorm, her nose wrinkling at the pile of laundry masquerading as a chair. "Try this on. We need to make sure it fits before the tailor leaves."
I unzipped the bag to reveal a tuxedo so crisp it could've been carved from midnight. "This thing probably costs more than my tuition," I muttered, running a finger along the satin lapel.
Haewon rolled her eyes. "It's rented. Destroy it and I'll deduct the cost from your nonexistent salary."
"Didn't realize I was getting paid to be your plus-one."
"You're not." She stepped forward abruptly, her fingers making quick work of my crooked tie. "You're my human prop in tonight's theatrical production of 'Expose the Fraud.'"
Her perfume smelled like winter citrus and expensive decisions. When her fingers lingered at my collar, I couldn't resist: "Careful, princess. People might think you actually like me."
She snatched her hand back like she'd been burned. "I'd rather lick a subway pole."
"Noted." I grinned. "What's phase two after the watch scheme?"
"Surviving my father's interrogation." She checked her diamond-encrusted watch. "Be ready by 5. And Dojin?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to embarrass me."
The door slammed behind her, leaving me holding the most expensive thing I'd ever touched.
---
The Gala from Hell
The Grand Ballroom of the Lotte Hotel was everything I hated about chaebol society - chandeliers worth more than my neighborhood, champagne towers taller than me, and a sea of people who'd never taken public transportation in their lives.
Haewon materialized at my side, her emerald gown making every head turn. "Target at 10 o'clock," she murmured over the string quartet. "Try not to stare like a starving puppy at a steakhouse."
Park Joonho held court near the ice sculpture (a swan, because of course), his counterfeit Patek Philippe glinting under the lights as he regaled his sycophants with some undoubtedly boring story.
"Phase one," Haewon said, pressing a glass of cabernet into my hand. "Spill this on his wrist. When he removes the watch to clean it, I'll 'accidentally' drop mine. The second he picks up the wrong one—"
"—his reputation goes down harder than a freshman during rush week." I nodded. "Brutal. I love it."
I made my move, adopting the slightly unsteady gait of someone who'd already hit the open bar too hard. Three steps from my target—
A brick wall in a tuxedo materialized in my path.
"Going somewhere, scholarship kid?" Joonho's bodyguard rumbled, his meaty paw closing around my wrist before a single drop could spill.
Up close, he smelled like cheap aftershave and threats.
"Whoops!" I slurred, laying on the drunken charm. "These floors are—"
"Save it." He twisted my arm just enough to make the joint protest. "Mr. Park said you might try something cute tonight."
Over his shoulder, I saw Haewon's face darken. She took a step forward—
Then her voice, sharp as broken crystal, cut through the murmur of the crowd:
"Park Joonho."
Every head turned as she strode toward us, the sea of tuxedos parting like the Red Sea.
---
The Distraction Waltz
"Care to dance?" Haewon purred, her smile all venom. "Or are you too busy harassing my date?"
Joonho's eye twitched at the word 'date.' "I don't waltz with traitors."
"Pity." She grabbed my hand instead. "Dojin doesn't chicken out."
Before I could protest, she dragged me onto the dance floor. The orchestra swelled into a Viennese waltz I was definitely not prepared for.
"I don't actually know how to—"
"Shut up and follow," she hissed, one hand gripping mine while the other settled firmly on my back. To my utter shock, Haewon led with the confidence of someone who'd been bred for ballrooms.
"Mandatory chaebol training?" I muttered as she spun us.
"Three years of torture disguised as etiquette lessons." Her smile was tight. "Now stop talking before I step on your feet on purpose."
The world narrowed to the pressure of her hand, the citrusy scent of her hair, the way her dress shimmered under the lights. Then—
She dipped me. Too far.
I flailed, grabbing her shoulders for balance. Our faces ended up inches apart, her breath warm on my lips. For one suspended moment, neither of us moved.
"...You're heavy," she finally said, voice uncharacteristically quiet.
"You're strong," I shot back, equally off-balance.
We jerked upright just as the song ended, applause erupting around us. Across the ballroom, Joonho was whispering to a university dean while pointing straight at me.
---
The Fallout
"Cute performance," Joonho sneered during dessert, sliding his phone across the table. A photoshopped image showed me "stealing" a donation envelope. "Already sent to your father, Haewon. And the board members."
Haewon's grip on my arm turned vice-like. "That's obviously—"
"—going to make Monday's expulsion hearing very interesting," he interrupted, smiling like a shark. "Enjoy your last weekend as a student, Kim."
As security approached, my phone buzzed with an unknown number:
>> Midnight. Rooftop. I'll tell you what really happened to your parents. —P.J.
---
Next Chapter Teaser:
- Dojin's Dark Past (What does Joonho know?)
- Haewon's Defiance ("Screw the rules—I'm helping.")
- Midnight Secrets (Truth or trap?)