Page 40 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

W e joined a queue of black cars lining up to park outside of the ENT building – a conveyor belt of luxury vehicles, each one depositing its celebrity contents out onto a red carpet, flanked on either side by crowds of fans and press photographers.

We’d already gone through the routine on the short drive over: Jihoon would get out on the red carpet and go into the building that way. I, along with the other, less important – or more secretive – guests, would be dropped off in the basement car park entrance away from prying eyes.

I was fully on board with this plan. I was.

There was also another part of me… a part that longed to be able to get out of the car with Jihoon.

To feel him put his arm around me as we walked together into the building.

I had to acknowledge this feeling, even as the very idea of outing myself as his girlfriend in front of the world and leaving myself open to all the scrutiny that would come…

terrified me. But, I reasoned, it wasn’t that I wanted the fame; Christ no.

I wanted… I wanted to not have to be a secret.

But that wasn’t the world we lived in, so for now, I pushed it down.

As we drew closer to that stripe of burgundy that lined the pavement to the shining front doors, I drew further and further away, as though distance alone could shield me from the waiting camera lenses.

Jihoon watched me silently, his brow furrowed.

Eventually, I felt the handbrake being pulled as we stopped. Jihoon turned to me, leaning over to where I huddled in the seat. He closed the distance between us for one, brief moment, and pressed his warm lips to mine.

“I love you.”

When the car door opened a few heartbeats later, Jihoon was already back in position, as close to his door as possible, angled toward the exit so he could step out quickly, whilst also blocking the interior with his body. The door shut behind him, dividing us.

He, amongst the flashing cameras and shouted attempts at gaining his attention, and me, hiding in the backseat of a car.

I only had a few moments to watch Jihoon on the red carpet before we pulled away. I marvelled at the way he slid his hands into his pockets, so casual you might have thought he was on the way to meet some mates at the bar.

It didn’t take long to circle the building and follow the other cars heading into the underground car park for ENT.

As we drove closer to the centre, where the service elevator was, I noticed other guests sliding out of cars, similarly dressed to me, and I wondered how many of them were in my position.

My stomach churned with nerves as we pulled up.

The driver hopped out and over to my door before I could open it myself, and I slid out as gracefully as I could.

I nodded at him, gratefully, before turning my attention to the little lobby containing the elevators.

The heavy fire doors were propped open, so I just walked in, hearing the SUV behind me drive away.

Stranded.

Taking a deep breath, I moved into the industrially-lit room, suddenly feeling a little silly in all my finery, but the sight of more ball gowns, and tuxedos reassured me.

A petite woman, probably around my age, was standing just inside the area next to a small round table with a clipboard and a box of ribbons, which I eyed curiously. She had a sharply-cut, short hairstyle that bobbed as she moved. She seemed familiar.

I pulled my dress up so I wouldn’t trip, revealing the tattoo of vines and flowers that wound around my foot and ankle, noticing how pretty the contrast between the coloured flowers looked next to the storm grey of the dress. I noticed the attendant looking as well, and I hastily dropped the hem.

“Chodaejang juseyo,” she chirped, with a polite nod.

I held out the invitation card to her. It didn’t have Jihoon’s name on it, only the envelope had, so at least I had a measure of discretion.

The woman peered up at me, curiously, and I wondered what she thought she saw through my elaborate mask and dramatic makeup.

The woman pulled out a length of snowy white ribbon from the basket, and gestured to my wrist. I held it out and watched as she carefully tied it on, securing it with a metal clasp.

Once done, she gestured to the elevator and said – this time in English – “Top floor.”

I thanked her and stepped aside as the line moved forward.

The elevator filled with a handful of other guests, all dressed just as finely – though I noticed, with some self-consciousness, that all of them were dressed more modestly than I was. My bare arms and shoulders felt suddenly chilled.

The doors opened up into a corridor that split in two directions, but I didn’t need to try and find where I was going, because right in front of me opened up an enormous pair of double doors, beyond which was clearly where the party was being held.

‘Ball room’ was definitely an accurate term for the cavernously large room.

It looked like it spanned most of the length and width of the building, with three walls being entirely floor-to-ceiling windows, and even from over here, I could see that they offered a spectacular view of Seoul.

The room was decorated unbelievably to look like the ballroom scene from Beauty and the Beast, but it was for grown-ups.

There were candelabras on every surface, and chandeliers dripped from the ceilings in glittering, multifaceted droplets that shone like fire as the rotating light fixtures projected shimmering light that somehow mimicked snowfall.

Heavy drapes hung from the ceilings to frame the windows at intervals, falling to the ground in elegant heaps.

There were banquet tables lined up against one whole wall, a seemingly-endless row of food that spanned several different cultures.

The way it piled up in towers, or was served on massive, silver serving platters, I imagined I could hear the faint strains of ‘ Be our guest ’, and I smiled.

I wondered if they had any ‘grey stuff’, I hear it's delicious.

At the far end of the room, with the nighttime Seoul skyline as their backdrop, a band was playing. It looked to be a mixture of contemporary – guitars and drums – mixed in with classical – violins and a cello. Very cool.

We’d arrived a little after the time on the invitation, and the room was packed.

Most people had their masks on, so I could be walking amongst the biggest names in the industry and I’d never know it.

It made me feel bold. That I, the disgraced intern and secret girlfriend, could be walking through a crowd of the most important industry leaders and artists in Korea.

A few people had looked my way, and the looks had included some undisguised appreciative looks, which I put down to the dress.

I wondered who they thought I was.

Jihoon found me first. I was just reaching out for a glass of something bubbly off a table being looked after by a server in a bird mask, when a voice whispered so close to my ear that I felt his breath ghost across my jaw.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in this room.”

A shiver of delight tingled up my spine, and I fought to keep my face neutral.

“You can’t possibly have seen all of them.”

“I don’t need to.”

I turned around so that we were standing together, but facing out into the room, like we were just two people, casually sharing space at the drinks table. I took a sip of my drink to disguise my thrill.

“So, this is what a fancy celebrity party looks like,” I commented casually, toying with my glass.

“Is it everything you thought it would be?” He shifted beside me, as if he were just rearranging his jacket, but somehow ended up brushing against me. The material of his jacket was stiff against my bare arm, yet I felt the warmth of his presence like a tangible sense.

How could this small thing, this illicit little touch still make me feel like this? Like I was a sunflower, and he was the sun I was constantly reaching towards.

“I’m not really sure what I expected,” I admitted. “Maybe more press? More scandal?”

“Press are not allowed. Only the ENT media is here, and even then, everything will be approved before it’s published.”

I nodded. “And the scandal?”

He turned to me, offering me a roguish wink beneath his mask. “The night is young.”

I snorted. “You and I could always walk across the room, holding hands. That ought to cause enough of one to get people talking.”

“Would you?” His expression had turned unexpectedly serious, his face fully turned to me, despite the people milling around.

Would I?

“I was only joking,” I replied weakly. “Press may be banned, but I imagine tongues would still wag.”

Jihoon turned back to look out over the expansive room, teeming with people in such a variety of finery. Servers wove in between them like a well-choreographed dance.

“One day,” he said.

I turned to him, opened my mouth to say – what? But then it didn’t matter as someone called his name. Someone was headed this way, but Jihoon moved away to intercept them, leaving me standing there to think over his words.

One day.

He’d moved away from me as soon as he saw them headed this way, and I knew it was because he didn’t want to draw any attention to me, but it still stung to see him walk away.

Left to myself, I drifted closer to the drink table, trying to appear casual. Just another well-dressed nobody in a room full of somebodies.

I was so focused on appearing casual, that I didn’t notice when someone stepped into my personal space. I didn’t even see him, until he leaned past me to pick up a drink, startling me slightly.

He apologised to me in Korean, but I just smiled and waved it away. He looked at me a little closer then, his eyes running over what he could see of my face.

“English?”

“Language or heritage?” I joked, without even thinking the words through.

The stranger laughed and said, “Either, or.” From his accent, I would guess-

“Australian?”

“Guilty as charged.” He held a hand to his chest and bowed in a manner very fitting to the fairy tale prince outfit he was wearing. He even had a short cape hanging from one shoulder.

“British.” I shrugged, but enjoying the unexpected company.

“A pom!” he declared, as though delighted. “What brings you all the way to Korea?”

“Oh, this and that.” I waved my hand, vaguely.

“Very mysterious. I like it.” He held out a hand to me. “Taeyang, but most people call me Tae.”

I took his hand, which was very warm against mine. “Kaiya, but most people call me Ky.”

“Good to meet you, Ky, who’s here doing ‘this and that.’” He winked at me, the gesture seeming especially roguish, given the mask.

“And what do you do, Tae?” I turned it around on him to deflect off myself.

“Oh,” he laughed. “I work for ENT.”

I figured as much, given where we were. “Doing anything interesting?”

“You could say that,” he hedged. “I’m in a group. Called Sol8.”

I choked on my drink, the bubbles going down the wrong way.

I looked at him again as I tried to discreetly cough up the blockage.

I recognised him now. This was the idol on the cardboard cutout in Olive Young – the one Jihoon said smoked a lot.

That idol was just then reaching for me, like he was going to pat me on the back, but right then, as though my realisation had summoned him, Jihoon was next to me.

I managed to cough until I could breathe again, without the need for anyone to smack me on the back.

“You alright there, Ky?” Taeyang leaned in close to me.

“She’s fine.” Jihoon angled himself between me and the younger idol, and I frowned up at him, before glancing around us to see if anyone was paying attention.

“Friend of yours, Jihoon-sunbaenim?” Taeyang was looking at us curiously, and I wondered what Jihoon was going to say, but to my shock, he took my hand and, not offering any reply to Taeyang, pulled me away.

We stayed on the fringes of the crowd, and no one seemed to be looking in our direction, but his boldness in such a public place left me speechless.

When we stopped a healthy distance away, all I could do was gape up at him.

“Not him,” he growled.

My mouth popped open at his tone. I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him sound like that before, so… jealous?

“Not him,” he repeated, and I just wordlessly nodded.

But then I remembered I actually had a voice. “He came up to me, Jihoon, not the other way around.”

“He was clearly…” he clenched his jaw, and then took a breath. “He’s got a reputation.”

“Okay, and?” I could feel heat spreading up my neck and knew it was probably visible on my skin, a tell-tale sign of my rising irritation.

“That’s not enough?” His tone was as incredulous as if I’d suggested I was thinking of asking him out on a date.

“His reputation has nothing to do with me.” My jaw clenched so hard I had to forcibly relax.

“Look, he didn’t do or say anything inappropriate.

And even if he had, I would have handled it.

You didn’t need to charge over like a dog looking for its favourite tree to piss on.

” I was whisper shouting by this point, watching the passage of his eyebrows, as they travelled further and further up his forehead.

Jihoon was silent for a moment, before – “Did you just call yourself a tree?”

“I called you a dog first.”

We stared at each other for a moment, eyes hard, before we burst into giggles at the same moment.

“For fuck’s sake,” I murmured. “I can handle myself, alright?”

“You’re so fucking sexy when you get grumpy with me.” He ran a tongue across his bottom lip.

“Is that why you’re so annoying?” I put my fists on my hips, and he laughed, dropping his head.

“It’s just hard for me when you look like that.” He looked back up at me, his eyes taking their sweet time travelling over my body before snapping back up to mine, “but I’m not able to tell everyone you are my girlfriend.”

“Caveman,” I sighed, biting back my smile. “Go mingle with your fabulously famous friends, so I can get back to innocently crowd watching.”

“Only if I can watch you right back.”

“Go!” I shooed him away, and he grinned, walking backwards for a few paces, before turning around and disappearing back into the crowd.