Title: The Beautiful Lie
The New York hotel suite was lavish, stark, and terrifyingly silent. Bok Soo and his team were immediately pulled into a logistics meeting, leaving me alone in the large connecting bedroom.
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring. I was a mess of exhaustion and lust. My hair was tangled, my dress rumpled from the flight, and my lips were bruised from a kiss I was supposed to pretend never happened.
But even through the exhaustion, I couldn't deny what the mirror showed. I saw the curves, the features, the natural beauty that had always drawn unwanted attention. People constantly complimented my looks, but those compliments always felt like a lie.
Why can't I see it?
I ran a trembling hand over my stomach. I focused on the flaws: the small parts that weren't flat enough, the exhaustion around my eyes, the reality that I didn't measure up to the flawless, airbrushed standard of Korean idols. No matter how many times someone told me I was beautiful, the voice of depression and insecurity always screamed louder: You are not worthy. You are a debt waiting to happen.
I thought about Bok Soo. His beauty was a known, public fact. Yet, he desired this. He had ravaged my mouth on that jet with a hunger that was raw, possessive, and terrifyingly real.
Was he lying to himself too?
I pulled the expensive dress off my body, tossing it onto the floor. I stood there, clad only in my simple slip, staring at the body that had so intensely betrayed me in the air.
This body betrayed my father's money by failing classes. This body shook with depression. This body failed to be the perfect daughter.
And yet, this same body had responded to Bok Soo with a fire that was primal and undeniable. He saw the strength beneath the struggle. He saw the fire behind the tears.
My eyes fell to my neck, where Bok Soo had pressed his mouth, and my lips, still aching from his kiss. He didn't desire the flawless Seo Min-Joo; he desired me. The girl who knew his secret, the girl who understood his shame.
The desire he showed me felt like the only real truth I had ever been given. It felt like an anchor.
Suddenly, I heard a sharp knock on the connecting door that led to Bok Soo's main suite. I quickly grabbed my dress, pulling it over my head.
The door didn't wait for my answer. It opened, and Bok Soo walked in.
He was holding a fresh garment bag and a small box. He was still in his black t-shirt and jeans. He looked tired, but the moment his eyes landed on me—rumpled, exposed, and vulnerable—the mask slipped. The ice in his eyes melted, replaced by a deep, hungry burn.
He didn't acknowledge the suit. He didn't acknowledge the schedule. He walked straight up to me, his gaze dropping to my lips.
"The meeting is going to be long," he murmured, his voice husky. He lifted the box he was carrying. "You've been wearing that same dress for twenty-four hours."
He opened the box. Inside was a simple, luxurious silk pajama set. Black, elegant, and impossibly soft.
"Put these on," he commanded, his eyes still locked on mine. "You're sharing the suite with me tonight. I don't want to look at a messy assistant."
It was a cruel instruction disguised as generosity, a clear statement that he owned my comfort now. But the sheer luxury of the silk, and the fact that he had noticed my clothes, made my throat constrict.
He placed the box on the dresser. His eyes met mine in the reflection.
"And Peter Bella," he continued, his voice dropping to that familiar, intimate whisper. "I saw what you were just doing. Stop looking for flaws. I don't make mistakes when I choose what I want."
He didn't just see my body; he saw my self-doubt. He saw my hidden struggle and used his desire to try and fix it.
He walked past me, stopping at the door, but not before his hand reached out and lightly, possessively, brushed the small of my back—a slow, scorching claim over the body I couldn't learn to love.
"Go to sleep," he ordered, his eyes holding a final, dark warning. "You'll need your rest. We have a very busy day tomorrow."
He closed the door, leaving me alone with the silk pajamas, the scent of his cologne, and the terrifying, beautiful truth that my enemy was the only person who had ever made me feel desirable.