Title: A Night of Storms
The "gala" was a blur of flashing lights and forced smiles. My role was simple: stand discreetly in the background, hold Kang Bok Soo's phone, fetch drinks, and fend off overly aggressive fans. He moved through the crowd like a king, radiating charm, yet never once acknowledging my presence directly. Still, I felt his gaze occasionally, a quick, intense flick of his eyes that seemed to pull all the oxygen from the room, especially when other men tried to talk to me.
The night stretched on, endless. My feet ached. Every time I checked my phone, the thought of my mother's illness squeezed my heart. I sent another hopeful text to my brother, asking about any news on her tests, but received no reply.
Just as I thought the torture was over, Ms. Kim's voice sliced through the noise.
"Peter Bella! Cancelled."
"What's cancelled?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
"Everything. His flight to Jeju Island for the morning shoot. A typhoon just hit. All flights grounded. Roads closed," she rattled off, looking furious. "There's no way he can make his next schedule. He'll have to stay in Seoul tonight." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "His private residence is being fumigated. He can't go there."
My stomach dropped. "So… where will he stay?"
Ms. Kim sighed, already walking away. "Find him a place. A secure hotel. One that won't leak his location to the press. And for the love of all that is holy, make sure he has his anxiety medication. I don't need him having a meltdown."
I stared after her. Anxiety medication. The prescription note flashed in my mind. This was not just a logistical problem; this was a personal crisis for him.
I managed to secure a suite at a secluded, high-end hotel with top-tier security. It was ridiculously expensive, but Ms. Kim had given me an emergency company card.
When I met Kang Bok Soo back at the agency, he was already agitated. His perfect composure was cracking. He didn't speak, but his eyes were darting, his movements sharper. The effortless charm was gone, replaced by a tense, restless energy. He needed his medicine. He needed a safe space.
"The flights are cancelled, Mr. Kang," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I've booked you a suite at the Royal Palace Hotel. It's discreet. Your anxiety medication is in your bag, along with your sleep aid."
He just nodded, a tight, curt movement. He looked at me then, his eyes dark with something I couldn't quite read – fatigue, irritation, and perhaps a flicker of that hidden anxiety.
The car ride to the hotel was silent, tense. The typhoon outside raged, rain lashing against the windows, the wind howling like a banshee. It mirrored the storm inside me.
At the hotel, the bellhop took his bags, but Ms. Kim's voice echoed in my head: round-the-clock assistant. I knew I couldn't just drop him off. He needed me there.
Inside the luxurious suite, the silence was thick, broken only by the angry drumming of rain on the windows. Kang Bok Soo walked straight to the panoramic window, staring out at the blurred city lights. He looked impossibly alone.
I unpacked his small overnight bag, placing the medication on the bedside table. My hands were shaking. I could feel his eyes on me, even with his back turned.
"Do you need anything else, Mr. Kang?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I wanted to escape. I wanted to check my phone again, hoping for good news about my mother.
He turned slowly. His perfect face was shadowed by the dim lighting, but his eyes were clear, intense. He walked toward me.
He didn't say a word. Just kept coming, until he was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. My heart hammered. I wanted to step back, but my feet felt glued to the floor.
His hand reached out, not to touch me, but to brush against the corner of my mouth, wiping away an invisible smudge. His thumb lingered there for a fraction of a second, sending shivers through me. It was that non-verbal, possessive touch that both thrilled and infuriated me.
Then, his eyes dropped to my lips. His gaze was so raw, so hungry, it felt like a kiss without contact. He didn't speak. He just looked at me, as if committing every detail of my face to memory.
"Peter Bella," he finally said, his voice a low rumble, barely above the sound of the storm. "Stay."
It wasn't a question. It was a command. And in his eyes, I saw not just arrogance, but a vulnerability that made my stomach clench. He didn't want to be alone tonight. And in that moment, neither did I.