XXXV.

G R E A T E S T  T R I C K

—aka, performance check,

INT— ANOTHER GODDAMNED HOTEL.

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA— MORNING.

SCENE III.

There was a layer of symbolism that I wasn't privy to.

It started early, when I got dressed for the occasion. There were murmurs in Korean, specific instructions I came to figure through observing them as they pampered and prepped me. A few faces I recognised as the same ones that helped me back in Paris, which went to show that they were under Kristoff's employment the first time.

They left the nails I had done, complimenting my 'pretty choice', before they set out the colours for my face and the style they wanted to do for my hair.

The choices became obvious as a brunt of specific requests. And I felt like a detective, twinning a red yarn to dot every facet I found matched my theory, especially as they talked amongst themselves after every item they placed against my skin to see if it matched well with their 'vision', shaking their heads at my input when it went against it.

The makeup, though kept in the "eu natural" where there were no stark choice colours, kept neutral with a sharp eyeliner, a smokey eye gaze that drooped and slanted like a fox's— they added a beauty mark on the apple of my right cheek.

Then my dress; it was white again, insert snort here, and though was pretty in its short, above the knee length design that flowed and fluttered behind me in different lengths like petals closing in on a flower, the halter top, even the exposed back, brought a specific era to mind.

It sparkled like a pearl under bursts of light in sequences and glass baubles, soundful in a few movements, and partnered with my hair parted to the side, brought a slight curl at the front that cascaded in ringlets to frame my face—

It then hit my like a fucking truck why I looked classic. Timeless.

There was an old Hollywood glamour era touch to every detail. From the little beauty mark to the fur-lined coat Archie draped over my arms as we left the hotel.

It wasn't just an era I was recreating, but a person.

When I nestled in the seat next to Archie, the car moving to the dinner painstakingly perfected to the very last detail as the scenic place for my proposal, I gave it five minutes before I quietly asked, hands clasped daintily above my lap, lips flattened and curved just at the very edges.

I hope my smile looked sardonic as much as I felt it.

"I look like her. Why?"

A woman that actually was part of Hollywood's stars. A woman who Kristoff wasn't even related to, and yet, he made sure I looked like her when he proposed.

"Hm. Clever," Archie all but confirmed, and my mind whirled. Making sense, twining the red string, trying to find a conclusion to all of this mess.

But answers were hard to grasp, no matter how it felt like everything was at the tip of my tongue. So, so close to unravelling the entire picture— Kristoff's entire plot — and yet I couldn't grasp the edges.

They slink away, just an inch out of reach.

"Why?" I still asked, tossing the coin to the ripper and seeing if he bites.

"Because he loved her," Archie answered softly. "Because she's a past he can't escape. Not if Kristoff has a say in it."

The he... The 'he' wasn't Kristoff. The 'he' was Kristoff's grandfather.

All of this trailed back to the old man.

I gave him a look. He looked prettier than ever. His ink-jet black hair was braided for this event, tucked to one side that showed off his jaw.

And he looked relaxed. As if the closer we drew into this, the more he could exhale. The faster the relief came.

There was a crescendo happening that I wasn't privy to.

He gave my stare the same scrutiny.

"That sounds like Kristoff wants to hurt his grandfather rather than take his seat."

He turned away. "Relinquishing control is a hard thing, is it not? Especially for an old man so used to the power he had coveted all his life. So used to using his family, playing everyone else like a pawn. It didn't never mattered who he had to trip, steal, or break to get what he wanted. It all drew back to that seat." The air of wistfulness in Archie's voice reminded me so terribly of the way Kristoff's became cold and hard-set. "Miss La Verne, when you are so used to having power so disgustingly owned by you and you alone, an amount that could move kings—

—Death is the only person you are willing to concede to. And don't you think such arrogance should not go unpunished?"

Several realisations came to me at that single line said so softly, kissed between gentle teeth and plush lips.

But the strongest one made my heart thud uncomfortably in my chest.

This was personal to Archie Noh.

Something about this— Kristoff winning, Kristoff hurting his grandfather? — it was personal to him.

The air felt stuffed and acrid, like a storm brewing closer and closer, waiting to strike home.

This was more than winning a seat, becoming powerful. And if I wanted to survive it, I needed to figure why the fuck that is and fast.

SCENE IV.

The progression of the events had been drilled to my head since Paris. I moved through each step with the precision of a surgeon; perfect, and with the weighted fear that if I misstepped even by an inch, it will cost me a life.

In this case, it would be my life.

And I hate when that happens.

Thankfully, it was a role I know all too well.

I was the picture perfect girlfriend who knew nothing but grotesque vanity and gluttonous need to devour every richly perk that came with having Kristoff Park as my lover.

It was about being stupid enough to try my hand at wanting to become part of this fucked up family for all it meant, damn the consequences, but venomous enough to parry against them.

It was arriving to dinner after Kristoff's meeting with some local investors, friends of his grandfather, old fucks who grew bored with the money they had and set it on fire just to feel something.

He paraded me to them like the picture perfect trophy, leered with watery gazes and slur-dipped tongues, and I was to laugh at every joke even if it made my skin itch. Even if my body locked and braced me to fight.

And then his family slowly trickled in, their familiar and unfamiliar vestiges. I first saw Joseph, easy to spot in his low cut top and slick back blond head, giving me a tilt of his chin as a sign. It was easy to find the rest after. Yuna, Sooyoung, Natasha, Tae Yang, and Philipp.

But I couldn't focus on them for long, I didn't want to get distracted. I was a performer on a stage set with every gaze seared into my skin.

When Kristoff took my hands in his, body close, grip cool— his lips brushed the corner of my ear and I shivered at the contact.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." I leaned back, smiled at the right moment, and pecked the corner of his lips. "On your good knee, baby."

I forced a thrill down my spine, letting myself flutter and gasp and tear up in the right order as the devil got down on one knee and made a speech. Everything felt so stuffy and congested, and breathing was hard, but I was here, I was doing this, and when he presented the ring, my squeal was just shy of sounding like a pig being slaughtered.

When the ring slid into my finger and I pounced on him— and everyone was clapping, everyone was talking — my tears felt crystallised, and I shuddered against him.

"Are you okay?"

"I am," I lied. "But you've been keeping more than what you're letting on."

As Natasha came closer and I untangled myself from him, the skin his gaze pierced against my own felt blackened and bloody, but I didn't care.

Especially when a man approached me, one I recognise that came from the company's investors. What helped me remember him was the fact that he was young, younger looking than Kristoff even. He didn't seem to be an investor, more of an assistant than anything, but the others held him in higher regard than they did their own assistants.

Before he could even speak, Kristoff was behind me. I knew it was him in the gentle but possessive way he took ownership of the silver of space, hands sliding from the crook of my elbow to my wrist.

The man's eyes turned from me to Kristoff, disregarding me completely as he made a brief bow, yet he spoke in English so I understood.

Talking of me without talking to me. The trophy wife agenda really speaks wonders.

"Your grandfather would like to meet you both. Privately."

When Kristoff's hands tightened and I hissed as I could just feel the bruises growing— this was what he was waiting for.

It was only due to the fact it was absolutely embarrassing to have the record of shortest fiancé status on me that I curb-stomped the urge to stab Kristoff Park in the chest before I smiled the final time for this adoring audience, feeling those heated gazes remain and welt.

"Of course, I can't wait to meet him." I pulled Kristoff's arm until we were side by side, twinning our fingers together. The ring glinted and the man shot it a look. A moment passed in his eye. Recognition. "Lead the way."

Time to meet the person who made the devil, I guess.

A bit of a short chapter, but the last ACTs have been outlined down to the specifics.

How ready are you for the monster who made the devil?