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Liliana's pov

The Calvin Klein office in Seoul is sleek, modern, and intimidating. Everything about it feels pristine-polished floors, glass walls, and an atmosphere that smells like expensive perfume and fresh coffee.

I step up to the front desk, adjusting the strap of my bag. The receptionist, a woman with sharp features and a black blazer, barely looks up from her computer.

"Liliana Tuedor?"

"Yes," I answer.

She picks up her phone and speaks in a clipped tone. "She's here." A brief pause. "Alright." Then she hangs up and nods toward the hallway. "Follow me."

I do, my sneakers nearly silent against the floor. My stomach knots a little, but I keep my shoulders straight. No room for nerves now.

We stop at a glass-walled conference room where a man in a navy suit and a woman in a beige turtleneck are seated. The man looks up from a folder and stands.

"Miss Tuedor," he says, extending a hand. "Daniel Kang, head of talent scouting. This is Jisoo, our model coordinator."

I shake their hands and manage a polite smile.

"Have a seat," Jisoo says, gesturing to the chair across from them.

I sit, keeping my posture straight as Daniel flips through what I assume is my portfolio. Then he sets it down and studies me.

"Your features photograph well," he says. "Great bone structure, balanced proportions."

I nod, unsure how to respond. "Thank you?"

Jisoo stands and moves to a side table, picking up a measuring tape. "We need full measurements-height, weight, body proportions, bone width."

I get up and follow her instructions. She works quickly, efficiently, noting things down without unnecessary comments.

"You have an athletic build," she says. "That's good. We may need to refine your posture for runway."

I blink. "Runway?"

Daniel leans back in his chair. "If this shoot goes well, you'll be considered for more projects-including runway."

That catches me off guard. I was expecting a single shoot, not a full career path.

"The shoot is this weekend," Jisoo continues. "Until then, take care of your skin-no harsh treatments, no excessive sun exposure. Stay hydrated, avoid salty foods, and get proper sleep."

I nod, mentally noting everything.

"One more thing." Her gaze flicks to my braids. "We'll need to modify your hair for styling. Come with it natural."

A familiar discomfort flickers in my chest, but I keep my face neutral. I already knew this was coming.

"Understood," I say.

Daniel stands, giving me a nod. "That's all for now. See you Saturday."

I thank them and walk out, only letting out a breath once I step into the fresh air.

Without thinking, I pull out my phone and dial Chan. The phone barely rings twice before he picks up.

"Hey, Jangmi." His voice is warm, grounding.

"I think I just signed up for more than I expected," I say, leaning against a lamppost.

He chuckles. "That bad?"

"Oh, it's bad. They want me to prep for runway, and they're taking over my hair for the shoot."

"Sounds about right," he muses. "But don't stress. They'll guide you through the shoot. Just focus on your expressions."

I sigh. "You're sure?"

"Positive," he reassures me.

I relax slightly, but something else lingers in my mind. It's been a while since I last spoke to Hyunjin. Too long.

"Have you heard from Hyunjin?" I ask.

Chan hesitates. "Yeah, but not much. He's been distant. We're going on tour soon, so I need him back in time for rehearsals."

That doesn't sit right with me. Hyunjin isn't the type to go completely silent.

I pull up our chat.

Me: Hyunjin, where are you? You good?

No response.

I call. It rings. No answer.

A strange feeling settles in my stomach.

Something's wrong.

What's going on in Busan?

***

The Photoshoot

The Calvin Klein studio is colder than I expected, both in temperature and atmosphere. Everything is white, minimalistic, and efficient. Stylists move like clockwork, setting up lights, adjusting backdrops, and prepping models. I'm one of the last to get ready.

I sit in the makeup chair, wearing a robe, as a hairstylist works through my curls with careful but firm hands.

"You have beautiful hair," she murmurs, sectioning a part of it. "We'll just shape it a bit to frame your face for the shoot."

I nod, keeping still. My nerves are creeping up, but I push them down.

Then I hear a familiar voice.

"Where's my girl?"

I whip my head around so fast the stylist huffs in frustration. Chan is standing at the entrance, wearing a cap and mask, but I'd recognize him anywhere. His eyes crinkle when he spots me.

"Sorry, sorry," he says to the stylist as he walks over. "Didn't mean to make her move."

The stylist sighs but lets it slide, returning to work.

"You came?" I ask, voice softer than I intended.

Chan shrugs, leaning against the counter. "Course I did. Told you I'd support you."

A warmth spreads through me. His schedule has been packed, yet he still found time to be here.

The photographer walks in, clapping his hands. "Alright, we're starting in ten."

The stylist finishes up, and I stand, the robe slipping slightly to reveal the outfit underneath-a sleek Calvin Klein set that leaves little to the imagination.

Chan's eyes darken slightly, but he keeps his expression neutral. "You look good."

I smirk, feeling a little bold. "That's it? Just good?"

His gaze drags over me before he leans down and murmurs, "You look insane, but I'm trying to be respectful."

I laugh, shaking my head.

A coordinator calls me to set, and I glance at Chan. "You staying to watch?"

He nods. "Wouldn't miss it."

I walk onto the set, heart pounding. The photographer adjusts the lights and gives me instructions.

"Relax your shoulders. Chin up. Eyes intense."

I take a breath, centering myself.

The first flash goes off. Then another.

Chan watches from the side, arms crossed, a small smirk playing on his lips.

I have a feeling I'll be teasing him about this later.

***

The last camera flash goes off, and the photographer calls it. "That's a wrap!"

Applause breaks out around the studio, and I finally let out a deep breath, rolling my shoulders. It's over. My first professional shoot.

Chan steps up beside me, grinning. "Told you you'd kill it."

I nudge him playfully. "You also said modeling wasn't that hard, and I nearly broke my back holding one pose for five minutes."

He chuckles, hands in his pockets. "Fair. But you looked amazing doing it."

I shake my head, unable to fight my own grin. Before I can reply, his phone buzzes. He checks the screen and sighs.

"Mr. Lim," he mutters, rubbing his temple. "He's been calling me non-stop. I was gonna take you to lunch, but I gotta get back to practice."

I pout dramatically. "You're ditching me?"

Chan smirks. "I'll make it up to you."

"You better."

He tucks his phone away, then looks at me more seriously. "Oh, by the way-I finally heard from Hyunjin."

That makes me straighten. "Yeah?"

Chan nods. "He said he'll be back this week. Apparently, some stuff came up in Busan."

I exhale in relief. "Finally. I was starting to get worried."

"Me too." He squeezes my hand briefly. "I'll check on him when he's back. You should, too."

"I will."

He hesitates for a second, then pulls me into a tight hug. "Proud of you, Jangmi."

I smile into his shoulder. "Thanks, Channie."

As we pull away, the studio director approaches, flipping through shots on her tablet. "Liliana, great job today."

I straighten. "Thank you."

She nods approvingly, then turns the screen toward me. "Your pictures came out beautifully. No bad angles. You're a natural."

My breath catches as I scan the images. She's right. I do look good.

She continues, "If top management gives the green light, you'll be walking the runway this weekend."

I blink. "Wait-runway?"

Before I can fully process that bombshell, she casually adds, "Oh, and the show's in Japan, by the way."

Then she walks off.

I stand frozen, mouth slightly open.

Chan tilts his head. "Did she just say... Japan?"

I nod slowly.

We exchange looks.

I need to sit down.

I stare at the director’s retreating figure, my mind racing. Japan. The show is in Japan.

  This was bigger than I expected. I wasn’t scared—just a little nervous. But more than anything, I was thrilled.

Chan watches me carefully, gauging my reaction. “You good?”

I nod, a slow grin forming. “Yeah. I mean, this is huge, right?”

He chuckles, relieved. “Yeah, it is. I thought you’d be freaking out.”

“I am, but in a good way.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I mean, it’s Calvin Klein. This could open so many doors for me.”

Chan smiles, but then his expression softens. “Just don’t overthink it, Jangmi. You’re gonna do great.”

I exhale, rolling my shoulders. “I know. I just want to do it right. Runway modeling is different from photoshoots.”

“You’ve performed on stage before,” he reminds me.

“Yeah, but modeling is different.” I motion with my hands. “It’s about posture, expression, walking in heels without looking like a newborn deer—”

Chan smirks. “I doubt you’d look like a deer. But if you need help, I can ask my stylist to give you some tips.”

I blink, considering it. “That… would actually be amazing.”

“Done.” He checks his phone and groans. “I really gotta go. Mr. Lim’s been calling nonstop.”

I pout. “And here I thought we’d get lunch.”

Chan sighs dramatically. “Tell that to my schedule.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Fine. Go before Mr. Lim hunts you down.”

He steps closer, placing a warm hand on my waist. “I’ll make it up to you.”

I arch a brow. “You’d better.”

He grins before leaning in and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m proud of you, Jangmi.”

I bite back a smile. “Thanks, Channie.”

As he walks away, I bounce on my heels, energy buzzing through me.

Japan. A real runway show.

I have a lot to prepare for—but I can’t wait.

***

The week leading up to Japan was intense.

Every morning, I trained with a professional runway coach, perfecting my posture, my stride, and the sharp, effortless turns that made high-fashion models stand out. I learned how to hold an expression that screamed confidence, how to command attention with just my presence. By the end of it, my muscles ached, my feet were blistered—but I felt ready.

The morning of my flight, Chan called while I packed.

"I really wish I could come with you," he sighed. "But schedules are tight."

I sat cross-legged on my bed, stuffing an extra pair of heels into my suitcase. "It's okay. I know you'll be cheering for me from Korea."

"Of course. You’re gonna kill it, Jangmi. No one’s ready."

I grinned. "You think so?"

"I know so."

The flight to Japan was smooth. I traveled with the other models, some seasoned, some fresh like me. Excitement buzzed through the air as we landed in Tokyo, the city lights reflecting off the airport windows.

My parents, though, weren’t as thrilled.

"You mean they just picked you and sent you to another country?" My mom’s voice had been sharp when I called before my flight.

"It’s Calvin Klein, Mom. This is a huge opportunity."

"It’s rushed. And Japan is far."

Lucas, my older brother, had been more concerned about something else entirely. "Be safe. Japanese men can be creepy."

I rolled my eyes. "Not all of them."

"Still. And bring back gifts."

Sarah, on the other hand, had been my biggest supporter. "Tokyo is amazing! You better take so many pictures. I can’t wait to brag about you!"

Now, standing backstage at the fashion show, I could barely breathe. Not from nerves—but from excitement.

The runway was a long, glowing platform, stretching out beneath blinding white lights. Designers and celebrities filled the front row, waiting for the show to begin.

I adjusted my outfit—a sleek black two-piece ensemble with dramatic silver accessories. My hair had been styled naturally, left to frame my face in a way that made me feel powerful.

Then, the music started.

When it was my turn, I stepped forward.

The moment my heel touched the stage, everything else faded.

I moved with practiced ease, each step precise, each glance calculated. I felt the weight of eyes on me, cameras flashing, whispers rippling through the crowd. By the time I reached the end of the runway and turned, I caught sight of a man in the VIP section, watching me intently.

Later, backstage, I found out who he was.

"That’s one of Calvin Klein’s top shareholders," the show’s coordinator told me. "He loved your walk. Said you’ve got a presence."

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

She nodded, impressed. "I’m telling you, Liliana—you’re gonna go far. But you need a manager. Things are about to get serious."

I swallowed, overwhelmed—but in the best way possible.

When they handed me my paycheck—$300 for my walk alone—I nearly laughed. It wasn’t a huge sum, but considering my hotel, food, and transportation had all been covered, it felt amazing. I was actually getting paid to model.

After the show, the models celebrated. We ate, drank, and wandered through Tokyo’s nightlife, laughing over shared experiences.

By the time I returned to my hotel, tipsy and full, the night air was crisp, and the hallway was quiet.

But as I approached my door, my steps slowed.

A figure stood there, leaning against the wall.

They were dressed in an outfit so bold it almost startled me—an oversized, high-fashion coat, layered with intricate accessories that screamed confidence. And their hair—buzzed short and dyed a vibrant pink.

The person had their back to me, focused on their phone.

I hesitated, then cleared my throat. "Excuse me… why are you at my door?"

The figure slowly turned.

I barely had time to process the sharp jawline, the familiar features.

Then my breath caught.

"Hyunjin?"

***
So stayville is a mess rn.