The girl smiled widely, almost beaming. "I'm Lia."
She looked so genuinely happy to meet her that Alina couldn't help but smile back. "Nice to meet you, Lia."
"Nice to meet you too!" Lia said quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll be working with you from now on. And if you have any questions about Mr. Arden…" her grin widened, "I'm your person."
Alina blinked, amused by her enthusiasm. "So I heard."
Lia giggled. "Good! Because trust me, I can talk about him for hours."
Alina laughed softly, the tension in her chest easing just a little. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Shall we move forward?" Lia asked, gesturing toward the door with a spark of excitement.
Alina nodded, curiosity glimmering in her eyes once again. "Let's get back to work."
Alina crossed her arms, her gaze wandering over the walls of the exhibition room. Every poster, every still photograph, every prop encased in glass, each one carried a distinct tone: dark, powerful, intense. Battlefields drenched in chaos. Faces streaked with sweat and blood. Emotion, yes, but never tenderness. Never love.
She turned slightly toward Lia, curiosity written all over her face. "So tell me something," she began softly. "Why has Mr. Arden never worked in romance? I mean, I've seen everything here: action, thrillers, psychological dramas, but not a single romantic project. Not even one."
Lia, who had been scrolling through something on her tablet, paused and looked up, her expression thoughtful. "Ah… that." She smiled faintly, as if it was a question she'd heard before but still found fascinating to answer. "It's not that he never got offers. Actually, he received hundreds of romantic scripts over the years. Love stories, emotional dramas, all of it. But…" she hesitated for a second, lowering her voice, "he never accepted any."
"Why?" Alina asked, frowning lightly. "Wasn't he interested?"
"He's been looking for something that doesn't feel like a story," Lia continued, her tone softening. "Something that doesn't follow the usual pattern of meet, fall, break, and return. He said every script he read felt like a repetition—different faces, same emotions. But he's looking for something that feels like magic… yet real enough to touch."
There was a brief silence. The way Lia spoke made it sound less like gossip and more like quiet admiration.
"Magic that feels real," Alina repeated, her voice almost a whisper.
Lia nodded. "Exactly. That's the kind of love story he's waiting for."
Alina's gaze drifted to one of the larger portraits, the one of Kai standing amidst a shattered cityscape, his eyes glinting beneath falling ash. She wondered what kind of story could ever satisfy a man like that.
But another thought tugged at her mind. She turned back to Lia, brows furrowing slightly. "Then how come he doesn't have fans following him everywhere? I mean… he's Kai Arden. No crowd chasing his car, no selfies, no videos of him at airports or restaurants. I didn't even find a single photo of someone saying, 'I met Kai today!' Not even a blurry one."
Lia's lips curved into a small, proud smile. "That's because… he taught us better."
Alina blinked. "Taught you?"
"Yeah," Lia said, her tone carrying quiet conviction. "From the very beginning, he was clear about boundaries. He never liked it when people invaded someone's space just for attention. He said that being a fan doesn't mean crossing someone's comfort zone, it means respecting it."
She adjusted her glasses, continuing, "So over time, his fans started to understand that. There was no need for fan-chasing moments or chaos in front of hotels. No autograph mobs. Just… respect. That's what he built—an understanding between him and the people who admire him. We call it the silent fandom."
Alina tilted her head. "Silent fandom?"
Lia nodded proudly. "Yeah. We don't scream his name. We don't stalk. We don't post random sightings. If we ever happen to see him, we quietly step aside. It's not about being seen with him—it's about seeing him, understanding what he values. And he values privacy more than fame."
A small, awed smile touched Alina's lips. "That's… different."
"It is," Lia said softly. "That's why people say he has the most loyal fanbase in the industry. We don't just love his work—we respect the man behind it."
For a moment, both of them stood silently. Then Alina murmured, half to herself, "He doesn't want to act in love… he wants to believe it."
Lia smiled knowingly. "Maybe one day, he will."
Alina's gaze lingered on the photograph of Kai once more, those steady eyes, that unreadable calm, and something in her chest shifted, just slightly. Maybe the story he was looking for hadn't been written yet. Maybe it was just beginning.
"So… where is he now?" Alina asked, glancing around the exhibition room as if he might suddenly appear from one of the glass walls. "I haven't seen him since the day I came here."
Lia smiled, tucking her tablet under her arm. "He's on an outdoor shoot. It's been a week already. Maybe he'll be back soon. No one really knows for sure. It's always Mr. Bennett who has the updates."
"Mr. Bennett?" Alina repeated.
"His PA. Or, well… more like his shadow," Lia said with a laugh. "If you ever see Bennett pacing around the floor, it means Mr. Arden isn't far behind."
Alina hummed thoughtfully, but before she could ask more, a group of people approached them, some holding design boards, others balancing coffee trays and files. The air shifted from casual chatter to focused energy. Alina straightened slightly, slipping into her newly given role.
"Alright," she said, clapping her hands once, her tone confident and brisk. ''We have a few days left before the exhibition opens. Let's get to it."
The team gathered around the large central table where the model layout of the exhibition stood. A miniature version of the grand event they were preparing for spotlights, platforms, glass casings, and digital displays, all waiting to be brought to life.
Alina leaned forward, pointing at a few corners of the model. "We'll have the fan zone here. I want it simple but elegant, no clutter. Just emotion. They should feel connected the moment they walk in."
"Noted," said one of the assistants, scribbling fast. Her team nodded in rhythm as if hypnotized by her focus.
"Oh, and add a special zone near the main exit," she added suddenly, her eyes lighting up. "A lucky draw booth''
"Brilliant," Lia said, beaming. "That'll create excitement without chaos."
For the next few hours, Alina was unstoppable. She coordinated decorations, rearranged schedules, finalized color palettes, and even walked the floor to visualize everything in motion. Her notepad was filled with sketches and quick reminders.
In the evening, she met with the vendor team. "I don't want the flowers to look artificial," she instructed firmly. "Fresh lilies and white roses—keep them in water until the last hour before the opening. And make sure the chocolates are wrapped with silver foil and tied with navy-blue ribbons. That shade matches our event theme perfectly."
By the end of the day, her desk looked like a battlefield coffee cups, flower samples, catalogues, and sticky notes scattered everywhere. Yet, she was glowing, completely immersed in her work.
Every time someone came to her with a problem delayed delivery, a lighting issue, or missing decor, she solved it with calm efficiency. She didn't even realize how time slipped through her hands.
When Evelyn stopped by in the evening, she found Alina still bent over the plans. "You've been here all day," Evelyn said, amused.
Alina looked up, blinking as though waking from a trance. "Oh—yes. I just wanted to make sure that the crowd is in control. If the crowd moves too much to one side, it'll block the entry to the main stage."
Evelyn chuckled softly. "You're doing more than fine, Miss Carter. I think even Mr. Arden will be impressed when he returns."
The mention of his name made Alina pause for a second. She wasn't sure why her heartbeat quickened, maybe curiosity. Or maybe something she didn't want to name yet.
As the lights dimmed across the hall, she gathered her notes, still lost in her thoughts. The scent of fresh lilies lingered in the air, the faint hum of the air conditioner blending with her quiet determination.
Without realizing it, she had started giving a piece of herself to this work, every detail, every idea, every ounce of care. And somewhere deep inside, she hoped that when Kai Arden finally returned… He'd see it.
The next evening, after finishing her café shift, Alina rushed to the company. She hadn't even changed much, just swapped her apron for a pair of cream trousers and buttoned up the navy-blue shirt she had borrowed from her roommate's wardrobe.
"He's on a business trip," she murmured to herself while straightening the collar in front of the mirror, "he won't even notice."
The shirt hung loosely on her frame, smelling faintly of sandalwood and something crisp, like clean rain. She tried not to think too much about it, tucking it neatly into her trousers and securing the look with a slim belt. The navy against the cream gave her a quiet, confident elegance, sharp yet effortless.
By the time she arrived at Arden Entertainment, the exhibition hall was already alive with movement workers hauling boxes, designers setting up frames, and assistants rushing with checklists. Alina slipped right in, clipboard in hand, immediately blending her voice into the rhythm of preparation.
"Set the flower arrangements a little closer..." she said, pointing. "And make sure the petals are white lilies—not roses. We'll save those for later."
In between instructions, she caught Lia by the decoration stand. "Hey, Lia," Alina began casually, pretending to check the color swatches. "I was wondering… about Mr. Arden's family?"
Lia blinked, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "No one knows," she said simply. "It's something he keeps completely private. Even those who've worked with him for years haven't heard a word. He shares things only if he wants to. It's… a boundary we all respect."
Alina frowned slightly. "That's… rare."
Lia chuckled. "That's Mr. Arden. Every piece of mystery adds to who he is."
Alina nodded, lost in thought for a moment before snapping back to work. "Alright. I'll handle the background arrangements then."
She spent the next few hours moving through the exhibition floor, her sleeves rolled up, hair loosely tied back, the navy shirt slightly creased at the elbows. She adjusted the positioning, double-checked the alignment, and arranged the return gift section.
"Make sure the ribbons match the exhibition theme," she told one of the decorators, tying a cream bow herself to show the style she wanted.
Every corner of the room began to reflect her touch, delicate but precise. Where others saw tasks, Alina saw stories: each flower a welcome, each scent a memory, each box of chocolates a silent thank-you to the fans who admired Mr. Arden's work from afar.