Seoul unfolds in front of me like a fever dream, a dizzying maze of neon lit towers and crowded alleys. Through the tinted windows of the luxury SUV, I watch the city's pulsing energy with a growing sense of unreality. Digital billboards flash in sequences of vibrant colors, their glow reflecting off the sleek glass facades of endless high-rises. The streets below teem with life – suited businessmen hurrying past street food vendors, delivery bikes weaving through traffic with practiced precision.

'Can you please come?'

Sonny's voice replays in my head – his tone completely even, but somehow, I could sense just a hint of desperation. Just that hint, it was enough to make my stomach drop. I couldn't say no.

Even though it was worded as a request, somehow it felt he had already made the decision for both of us, and I didn't really have a choice.

Besides, Sonny never asks for anything. And now he was asking. How could I say no?

Twelve hours on a plane, just to spend three days in a country halfway around the world, all while driving myself crazy keeping up with my lies. But in the end, it's all worth it if it's for him.

My phone buzzes – another article pops up on the alert I set up for Sonny's name. The headlines are getting bolder, hungrier. 'Son Heung-min's Mystery Woman - What We Know'.

What do they know?

Lives in London. Not a public personality. Met Son earlier this year.

So not much it seems so far.

I distractedly open my email app to check up on work and an unread email from James Hurley taunts me: 'Re: Analytics Position at Tottenham Hotspur - Timeline for Decision.' I swipe it away to pre-empt the inevitable spiral of thoughts. But I spiral, nevertheless.

Is there really no way I could make this work?

'I like that about you. I like that you have your own thing, like how I have my own thing, and we have our own worlds...'

'A word of caution,' my chauffeur's voice cuts through. 'The press has been... persistent lately. It would be best to be discrete during your stay.'

I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror – there's something almost like sympathy there. He had introduced himself as Mr. Park when he picked me up at the airport.

Has he seen all this before while working for Sonny? Were there other women, other stories? How did they end?

The car glides to a stop before a towering hotel. The doorman bows slightly as he opens my door, his face a mask of professional indifference.

The hotel lobby is all gleaming marble and crystal chandeliers, the kind of place that makes you acutely aware of your own existence. Every footstep echoes. A group of elegantly dressed women glance up as I pass, their eyes lingering just a moment too long.

Or am I just imagining it?

Check-in is swift and discreet, the staff's practiced efficiency almost mechanical. Yet I can't shake the feeling that they know exactly who I am, why I'm here.

As I'm about to head up to my room, Mr. Park appears at my elbow with practiced stealth, presenting a sleek black credit card. 'Mr. Son insists you use this for any preparations you might need.' His tone is respectfully resolute, as if anticipating my resistance.

My face heats up.

I shake my head, mustering what I hope is a gracious smile. 'Thank you, but I can manage.' The words taste like pride and stubbornness on my tongue.

It's only after Mr. Park leaves, when I'm standing in my suite staring at my pitiful crinkled white t-shirt and airplane sweatpants, that I realize the implications of my decision. The stakes here are higher than my pride. One wrong outfit, one bad photo, and I'll be torn apart online. And more importantly, Sonny will be torn apart.

This isn't about me anymore.

A chill runs down my spine and I feel nauseous.

What have I gotten myself into?

***

Cheongdam-dong's pristine streets stretch before me like a luxury playground. Designer boutiques line both sides, their window displays artfully minimal - a single handbag spotlit like a museum piece, a dress floating ethereally against a backdrop of fresh orchids. It's like every one of them is sending a message to me: You Don't Belong Here.

If I'm being really honest with myself, growing up with parents in academia, working in tech, I'm extremely privileged. But the gulf between comfortably upper middle class and celebrity level rich is still impossibly wide. A designer outfit that might be once-in-a-lifetime special event for me, is just another Tuesday to Sonny.

But if I want to fit into his world, if I don't want to embarrass him, this is the price I have to pay.

As I walk through the crowds, it's not just the stores that intimidate me. All through the city, everywhere you look, Sonny's face is everywhere. Beaming from bus stops, gazing down from billboards, his smile perfectly calibrated in each advertisement. In a beauty store window, he holds up a skincare product with that trademark grin. At a cafe, his cardboard cutout invites customers to try his favorite drink. His omnipresence only amplifies my sense of unreality.

I duck into the nearest department store, seeking refuge in its climate-controlled interior. A massive advertisement greets me - Sonny in a perfectly fitting sweater, carrying a suitcase with casual elegance. Even here, I can't escape him.

I keep a low profile, speed walking to the women's section.

Snippets of Korean conversations register in my ears:

'..foreigner...'

'...did you see the article...'

'...Son Heung-min...'

My heart races.

Are they talking about me?

I shift my attention back to my surroundings. Soft lighting bathes everything in a flattering glow, while the subtle scent of expensive perfume hangs in the air. Sales associates hover at strategic distances, with their calculating looks sizing me up. One whispers to another, phone in hand. I pretend to browse through racks of clothing while my pulse pounds in my ears.

I pick up a few dresses in a rush and half-run to the fitting room. I don't know if I just did a bad job of choosing or I look extra-ragged from my long plane ride, but as I try each dress on, nothing really seems to work.

'This style would suit you perfectly,' a saleswoman materializes beside me as I walk out dejected from the fitting room. She's holding up a white dress, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

The dress is beautiful – brushed silk in pristine white, with modest long sleeves and an elegant boat neck. The fabric catches the light as the saleswoman holds it up, creating subtle shadows that dance across its surface. Simple yet sophisticated, exactly what I need for the occasion.

'Would you like to try it on?' she asks in accented English.

I nod, following her to back to the fitting rooms.

As I slip into the dress, the silk whispers against my skin. The weight of the fabric feels substantial, expensive. Nothing like the polyester-blend dresses that usually fill fast-fashion stores. The cut is masterful, skimming over my curves without clinging, the hem falling just below my knees.

I take a quick look at the price tag dangling from the sleeve. The number makes me wince – it's more than my monthly rent. Ouch.

But then I turn to examine myself in the three-way mirror.

The woman reflected back looks... worthy. Like someone who could stand beside Son Heung-min without causing whispers.

I emerge from the fitting room, my decision made. The saleswoman's eyes light up, as if she can read my mind.

The transaction feels surreal – the smooth glide of the credit card (my own, not Sonny's), the gentle rustle of tissue paper as they wrap the dress with practiced care, the weight of the boutique shopping bag with its thick ribbon handles.

There goes at least six months of "treat yourself" budget. But so be it. This is more important.

I sigh.

Exhausted already, I duck into a café tucked between boutiques for refreshment. The space is almost aggressively rustic chic – dried flowers hanging from exposed beams, tiny succulents dotting marble tables, indie music playing at just the right volume. But even here, I can't shake the feeling of being watched.

The barista stares a beat too long as he hands me my iced hibiscus tea.

Does he know? Have they all figured it out?

I choose a corner seat, my back to the wall, trying to make myself smaller. But the whispers follow me, floating through the air like invisible daggers.

I flinch every time the doorbell rings.

A couple walks past my table, the woman doing a double-take. I hear fragments of their conversation: "...looks like her..."

Calm down Bella.

No one knows who you are.

Right? Right??

My fingers betray me, opening Naver search before I can stop myself.

The results are immediate and overwhelming. Forum threads. Speculation. Threats.

'When we find out who she is...'

'Do you dare doubt the investigative power of netizens...'

'She better be worthy of our Sonny...'

'These foreign girls only want...'

'I heard she's in Korea...'

I put away my phone, breaking out in cold sweat, but not before catching a reflection in the screen – someone holding up their phone, pointed in my direction. And then that distinct sound. Click.

My stomach lurches.

It's probably nothing.

Just someone taking a photo of their expertly crafted latte art. But panic claws at my throat anyway.

I gather my shopping bag with trembling fingers and practically run out, back to the bustling street.

The temperature difference is stark, but the bright afternoon sun does nothing to warm the chill that's settled in my bones.

***

'Boo.'

The sound makes me jump, hands clasping my chest as warm fingers grasp my shoulders from behind.

I turn back to find that beautiful smile that haunts me in my dreams, sleeping or awake.

'Did you wait for long?' Sonny asks, his eyes scanning my face with careful attention. That woodsy vanilla scent I've missed wraps around me like a comfort blanket. It's a wonder I didn't notice it all this time.

'No,' I manage to reply, proud that my voice barely trembles, 'barely five minutes.'

His expression eases.

Wearing a white dress shirt and dark grey slacks, he looks effortlessly beautiful as usual. His hair is tamed with product, but a rebellious lock falls down on his forehead all the same.

I want to reach out and hug him, enjoy his warmth, have him quiet all my fears without saying a word. But I can't. Who knows if cameras are lurking somewhere, even in this private parking space.

I thought we were done with hiding. But this isn't London, is it?

So I stand still, without making a move, just savoring the sight of him.

'Let me see here,' Sonny holds my shoulders at arm's length, his eyes traveling from my carefully blow-dried hair to the dress I spent a fortune on. 'You got prettier,' he finally asserts.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. 'You don't look so bad yourself.'

His eyes darken slightly, hands tightening on my shoulders for just a moment before he catches himself. Instead, he shifts to business mode: 'Remember what I told you about how to greet them? The proper way to bow?'

His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me into the correct posture. The touch is gentle but firm - a reminder that there's a right way to do things in his world. A way he's carefully orchestrated.

I nod, practicing the motion again. Part of me appreciates his attention to detail, his desire to make this perfect. But another part...

He takes a deep breath, almost a sigh. 'Let's go,' he says softly, sliding his hands down to reach for mine.

We walk towards the traditional hanok building nestled amongst pine trees, its elegant curved roof tiles silhouetted gracefully against the light blue sky. The courtyard features an ornamental stone garden with carefully placed rocks and a small pond where golden koi fish swim lazily beneath lily pads. Right in front of the main doors of the restaurant, there is persimmon tree, still in its flowering stage in summer.

How beautiful would its branches are heavy with fruit in autumn?

Would Sonny and I still be together then?

We enter through the wraparound veranda with its weathered wooden floors, enclosed by wooden pillars supporting the deep eaves that cast intricate shadows. Paper lanterns hang from the rafters, swaying gently in the breeze.

'Everything will be fine,' Sonny gives my hand a final squeeze before gently letting it go. 'They're going to love you.'

My answering smile feels brittle, my hands already missing his touch.

'It's just that...I haven't done something like this before,' his expression looks pained. 'Never wanted to make things known,' he hesitates over his words before expounding: 'Date someone publicly. So, they worry.'

I nod and try to offer a smile.

'I know. I get it.'

And I really do. I understand why his parents would want to meet the random nobody who somehow made their son break all his rules. I understand why I have to be discrete and look the part so as not to cause him an embarrassment. And I understand that he can't hold my hand right now because it's against etiquette.

I understand, but I'm still scared.

So, we walk in, maintaining a respectful distance, our footsteps hushed against ancient wooden floors. The hostess, elegant in her hanbok, leads us past paper screens decorated with delicate ink paintings of distant mountains. The scent of tea and sandalwood fills the air.

My heart pounds as we approach the private room. One deep breath. Two. The door slides open.

***

The actual lunch passes in a blur of formal greetings and carefully measured responses, his parents the picture of polite hospitality.

I barely know what I ate or drank, or even what I said, but it must have been all fine because as I sit in the back of Sonny's SUV, he is smiling ear to ear, the tension finally melting from his shoulders. He chatters happily about how impressed his parents were, how they praised my manners, my academic and career achievements, my language skills.

But other fragments of conversation keep echoing back to haunt me.

'He doesn't have a lot of years left to play at this level. Soon Heung min has to come back and live here in Korea, after his retirement, and grow his family,' his father had ventured in a mild tone.

I didn't know what to say. Sonny had excused himself for a few minutes to answer a call and his mother had left to use the washroom – his father and I were alone in the room.

'I'm happy that he's happy. But it would be good if he can focus on his football now. Without distractions. He means a lot to the people of this country,' he continues.

'Yes,' I had agreed softly. 'His football and his country should always come first.'

The words tasted like ash in my mouth, but they're true. They have to be true.

He only wished I wouldn't stop Sonny from being able to give his best, causing drama in his personal life that prevented him from being able to focus. That is completely reasonable, and I know that Sonny wouldn't want to get in the way of my career either.

And I don't plan to do anything to cause press frenzy or embarrass. Hopefully soon the novelty of him having a girlfriend will die down in the press, and then everything should be fine...as long as I maintain the image of a model girlfriend.

Is that something I can do?

But that isn't even the only problem.

'Soon Heung min has to come back and live here in Korea...'

But does a future with Sonny mean moving to Korea, living in the public eye like this for the rest of my life?

Maybe I'm getting too ahead of myself, but is this something that I can commit to someday, despite how much I love him?

Last time when I had decided to do that for a man...how did that turn out, Bella?

The car comes to a stop in an underground parking lot.

'I thought you're dropping me back off at the hotel,' I ask dazedly.

'Back entrance,' Sonny smiles as he gets off the car. The chauffeur opens my side of the door, and I step down carefully in my heels. 'And I'm not dropping you off,' Sonny smirks, as he walks around and puts his arms around me. A shiver passes down spine as I bite my lips instinctively.

He says nothing and walks me to the elevator.

We go up to my floor, his hand firmly gripping mine. Once again, my heart thumps as we make our way down the empty hallway to my room, but this time it's a different type of anticipation.

He produces a key card from his pocket.

'I asked them to make an extra one for me,' he answers sheepishly seeing the questioning look in my face.

'I don't know if I should be impressed or scared,' I joke weakly.

'Neither. I'm your boyfriend. And it's perfectly natural that your boyfriend and you share a hotel room. Don't you think?' he makes his case persuasively.

'I think that makes sense,' I reply grinning, amused at his tone.

'Okay, enough talking now, I haven't seen you for too long...' his words dissolve as he captures my lips in a feverish kiss, his hand coming up to cup my face.

He pushes me, till my back is to the wall and we lose ourselves, making up for weeks apart with desperate touches and whispered endearments.

The sun goes down and the night grows deep as I fall apart in his arms, again and again.

Afterwards, we lie tangled in a mess of white sheets, his arm a warm weight across my waist. The room is quiet save for our gradually steadying breaths and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

I watch Seoul's endless array of lights twinkle like stars outside the floor-to-celling glass windows.

I trace my fingers along his arm distractedly, my mind a jumble of contradictions once again.

I can't have it all. I can't keep my comfortable life, the career of my dreams, and the man that love all at once. Something has to give.

The unread email from Mr. Hurley still lurks on my phone. A career I could love, working with the sport I'm passionate about. A chance to be truly myself. It's all there, up for grabs.

Or I could become this other version of me - the perfect girlfriend who knows nothing of football, who can handle the spotlight with grace, who might someday leave everything behind to move to Korea.

I gulp down.

'Sleep,' Sonny murmurs, pulling me closer. His steady heartbeat beneath my ear drowns out my racing thoughts, if only for tonight.

Tomorrow's choices can wait. For now, I let myself sink into his warmth, pretending this moment can last forever.