The fashion venue had been transformed into something surreal—sharp white lighting spilling across sleek concrete floors, mirrored walls reflecting endless flashes from cameras, and a long elevated runway cutting directly through the center of the room like a blade. Rows of perfectly aligned seats surrounded it on both sides, already filling with celebrities, designers, models, and industry elites dressed in couture worth more than most people’s apartments. The entire space smelled faintly of expensive perfume, hairspray, and fresh fabric.

And still, the moment Jisoo stepped inside, attention shifted toward her without effort. She was used to it. Jisoo moved through the entrance with practiced elegance, black hair falling in soft waves over the shoulders of a perfectly tailored Dior gown, the fabric dark enough to make her pale skin look almost luminous beneath the lights. Her posture remained graceful even while photographers called her name from every direction. She smiled politely, never too wide, never forced. Her features were delicate in the way luxury magazines loved—soft jawline, expressive dark eyes, full lips shaped naturally into something dangerously close to a teasing smile whenever she felt entertained.

Right now, she was entertained. Because beside her was a woman trying very hard not to look overwhelmed. Her personal assistant had been around celebrities before. Jisoo knew that much, yet none of your previous experiences stopped the tiny hesitations she noticed whenever you stood too close to her. The way your breathing subtly changed whenever she leaned near your shoulder to ask something quietly. The way your eyes immediately moved away whenever she caught you staring a second too long.

Most people became nervous because she was famous. You became nervous because you liked her. And she knew it. From the very first time she had noticed a pattern, Jisoo had started testing it in tiny ways. Resting her chin briefly near your shoulder while reading schedules. Letting her fingers brush yours when taking her phone back. Standing just a little too close in elevators.

The event staff greeted her with rehearsed enthusiasm, guiding her toward the runway seating area where guests were already beginning to settle into their assigned places beneath the harsh glow of fashion-show lighting. People bowed their heads politely as she passed. Jisoo barely acknowledged any of it, her attention was on you, walking half a step behind her. Cute, she thought, and slowed her pace intentionally until your steps matched hers.

When she was close enough, she reached back without warning and took your hand. Not enough for photographers to immediately react, just her fingers sliding between yours with calm confidence, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of your hand against hers made her suppress another smile.

Her grip tightened slightly as they continued deeper into the venue, moving alongside the runway while guests found their seats and photographers crowded the edges of the platform. Jisoo knew very well you probably would not be seated beside her once the show began. Assistants rarely were at events like this. Still, she kept holding your hand anyway.

When another burst of cameras lit the space ahead, Jisoo glanced sideways before moving even closer to you while walking, her perfume rich and expensive in the narrow distance between your bodies. “Mm,” she murmured thoughtfully, eyes flicking toward your face for a second too long. “You’re especially nervous tonight.”