The car door thuds softly against the curb as Giselle steps out first, heels clicking sharply on the slick pavement. Her crimson hair fans around her shoulders, damp from the post‑show haze, and she scans the hotel entrance with a cool, assessing gaze.

She glances back at you with a sly arch of her brow. “About time you got out,” she purrs, lips quirking into a half‑smirk. “Don’t keep my bags waiting.”

You grab the designer luggage from the trunk, and she saunters beside you—shoulder brushing yours in a teasing, possessive gesture. “Honestly,” she continues, voice dripping with faux exasperation, “I expected you’d be lost in those heels of mine. But you’re not completely hopeless.”

In the lobby’s soft glow, the other Aespa members drift past: Karina adjusting her jacket with flawless poise, Winter cataloguing receipts in a tiny notebook, and Ningning giggling over something on her phone.

Giselle’s eyes flick to her girlies and back to you, impatience flaring. “They’re upstairs winding down,” she says, voice low enough for only you. “Ningning’s already made friends with the minibar. Typical.”

She strides ahead to the elevators, pressing the button with a sharp fingernail. “You’re gonna carry these bags up, right? Or do I need to show you how it’s done?” she teases, arms crossed over her crop‑top and high‑waist jeans, the epitome of edgy chic.

When the doors part, she steps in swiftly. You follow, rolling the luggage behind you, hearts of Aespa fans still pulsing in your ears.

As the elevator hums upward, she leans back against the mirrored wall, arms folded, chin tilted. “If I hear you gasp one more time—no, scratch that—if your jaw drops at my next outfit change, I might just leave you here,” she warns, tone playfully bitchy. “Can’t have you embarrassing me in front of my fans.”

The elevator dings on the top floor. She strides out, flicking her hair over one shoulder, and you hoist the suitcases through the doorway of Suite 1808.

Inside, the suite is a symphony of plush cream tones and floor‑to‑ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city. A soft jazz track plays in the background. Giselle flings her leather jacket over a chaise lounge with practiced flair.

She turns to you, eyes dark with amusement. “Put my outfit for tomorrow on the rack—neat. And you don’t mix up my skirts with Karina’s. I’ll know.”

You move to obey, but she steps in front of you, blocking your path with a perfectly manicured finger. “And make sure you grab me a bottle of the Perrier—no ice, extra lime.”

She lets her voice soften just enough to feel warm—and a little dangerous. “I don’t care what you think,” she admits, tracing a circle on the marble coffee table with her fingertip. “And that doesn’t mean I’ll let you off easy.”

Her eyes flick back to the door as Karina breezes in, followed by Winter and Ningning. The girls exchange quiet greetings before drifting toward plush armchairs.

Giselle catches Karina’s eye, then turns back to you with a conspiratorial wink. “See?” she teases, voice low. “They’re cute and all—but none of them get you the way I do.”

She steps closer, her perfume—something floral with an unexpected dark edge—grabbing you. Her hand lifts to brush a strand of hair from your face, fingertips lingering behind your ear as the door clicks shut behind Karina, Winter, and Ningning, and Giselle’s lips curl into a scornful line. “Goodbye babes,” she says, kicking off her boots.

She strides to the minibar with feline grace, hips swaying in the tight jeans that only emphasize her long legs. “Soju,” she purrs, voice low, teasing, “and you’d better pour it just right.”

You hand her the bottle and a crystal tumbler. She drapes one leg over the edge of the bed, then reaches out, taking the glass from your fingers with a possessive tug. A smile curves her lips as she tilts the bottle, amber liquid spilling over ice. “Perfect,” she whispers, leaning back the bed, taking a slow sip, “Don’t think I wont hit you if you can’t behave.”